


Will Graham, Medium

by Dovesummer



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: AU, Actually that's Canon but not normally mentioned, Anal Sex, Blink and you'll miss that, Blow Jobs, Canon-Typical Violence, Docking, Hannibal is a Count, Hannibal is still a cannibal, Implied Sexual Content, Implied Violence, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rimming, Slow Burn, Violent Thoughts, Will is a medium, for now anyway
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:00:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 41,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27428311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dovesummer/pseuds/Dovesummer
Summary: The basic premise: Will is a medium, Hannibal is a Lithuanian Count who immigrated to the US and lives in Maryland. The setting is Baltimore around 1918/1919  (I probably know just enough about the time to make that time period somewhat believable if you don't look too hard. Or consider it sort of steam punk/anachronistic.  My excuse for getting details wrong.)  Hannibal's original goal is to discredit Will, but finds himself intrigued.There's a very vague reference to homophobia, which would have been common to the time period, in chapter 4.  Like, very vague.  But I'm still mentioning it in this summary just in case.(There's a good chance this summary will change as I write more.)
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 48
Kudos: 228





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter is exactly what I wrote for my [Random Halloween Prompt Ficlets Chapter 2 - Séance](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27000538/chapters/65963056). If you read that you can either read this again or skip it. It's quite short, comparatively, since I set a 500 word limit on those. Expect other chapters to be longer.

“Did you find the wires?” Will asked, though it was clear from his tone it wasn’t truly a question.

“They were well hidden,” Hannibal said. More ingenious than most of the mediums he had been to, in fact. There were three wires in the foot of the table that traveled under the floor and inside the walls, where a small wooden mallet would knock and create the sounds of the spirit world.

It required that Will maneuver the wires with his toes. He had to be quite dexterous to do so, particularly to have all three of them knock in quick succession as he had done in the middle of the performance.

“I would prefer not to use them,” Will said. “But the sounds and pageantry are expected.”

When Hannibal said nothing Will looked at him and smiled softly. “You’re surprised.” He narrowed his eyes slightly. “And you’re surprised I can tell you’re surprised.”

Curious, Hannibal inclined his head slightly, the barest indication of a nod.

“The dead rarely speak.” Will’s tone was confessional. “What I provide isn’t words from beyond, but comfort.”

Hannibal considered the young man. He had to admit that during the seance Will had demonstrated an uncanny ability to understand what each participant was feeling and address their fear or sadness. It was, by far, the best performance Hannibal had attended. Will was talented.

The medium’s eyes took on a faraway look. “Occasionally they do speak, though,” he continued. This time Hannibal didn’t attempt to hide his surprise. Will was quite the artist - he spoke the Lithuanian words slowly, like he was hearing them from someone else first. His pronunciation was good but not flawless, as though he was trying very hard to repeat exactly what he was hearing but the sounds were unfamiliar to him.

It was a few moments before Hannibal considered the meaning of the words instead of merely the sound. When he did, he stilled, staring. Will finally ended with the words pour quoi.

“I understand the French at the end,” Will said. “Why. But what does the rest of it mean?”

Hannibal was visibly shaken. “It means,” he began hoarsely, then cleared his throat and composed himself.

“It means,” he said, “that I am undecided.”

Will’s smile was full of unspoken knowledge. “About my skills or about exposing me?”

“Both,” Hannibal said, staring into the street.

Will’s smile had not changed. He turned back toward his home and placed a hand gently over Hannibal’s bicep.

“I suppose I should thank you for that, Count Lecter,” he said. “I hope to see you next week.” His blue eyes were bright, his look questioning. Hannibal felt an uncharacteristic flutter in his stomach and he swallowed it down, nodding. He would most certainly be back; he was curious to see where this would go.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if all Chapters will be this long - this one ended up longer than I though but I did have a specific ending point in mind for the chapter. Thanks in advance for reading!

The morning dawned clear and cold. Hannibal rose characteristically early, emerging from the soft cushion of his four poster bed to stand by his window. He enjoyed the cool of the wood beneath his stockinged feet, the chill creeping steadily into his legs. This change in sensation was an indulgence he enjoyed privately, appreciating the feel of cold with the knowledge he had the means and ability to drive it away. It served as a reminder of the difficulties of his past and what he had overcome.

This morning, however, he was hardly aware of the chill. He drew back the velvet curtains and watched the sun rise with no small amount of anticipation. It was Tuesday; he would be making his second visit to Will Graham’s that evening. He was eager to see the man in action again and hoped to discover more secrets of his performance. 

He thought back to their first encounter. Though well hidden, it had not been difficult for Hannibal to locate his primary prop. Or perhaps, Hannibal mused, that had been another deception on the medium’s part. Certainly he had been aware that Hannibal would find the wires – he had acknowledged as much in their conversation after the fact. 

Initially Hannibal thought it might be the reaction of a man who was tired of the show, aware he was caught, and similarly aware that struggling often served only to tighten the binds. He had seemed content with his fate that day, whatever Hannibal decided. 

But perhaps he’d intended for Hannibal to find those wires. The medium had left him alone for some time, knowing full well his identity and intentions but allowing him access anyway. There was more to Will Graham than met the eye, of that Hannibal was certain. 

The message - ostensibly from Mischa - in Lithuanian had unsettled him more than he cared to admit. But his sister and her loss were not secret. If the medium had not already been aware of his family history it was information easily discovered. Will’s imitation of the sounds of the language had not been perfect, but had been quite close; the message had been crafted by a native speaker. Hannibal was not aware of any of his countrymen in the area, but to conclude that none existed would be foolish. Baltimore was a large city and newcomers arrived in the Americas daily. 

But the content of the message had taken him by surprise. It had begun with the usual platitudes. She loved and admired her big brother, she was safe and content in the afterlife. But the secret “she” shared to proved herself was something that, to Hannibal’s knowledge, had only been known by four people - three of whom were deceased. 

Hannibal closed his eyes, traveling back to the moment Will had shared the message with him. There had been a distance in his eyes before they closed softly, dark lashes fluttering across his skin. Hannibal tracked the movement of Will’s eyes behind his eyelids and the pursing of his soft red lips before he began to speak, his mouth unsure of its form as it measured the foreign sounds. His jaw had been slightly tense, Hannibal realized as he recalled the moment, only relaxing when he came to the French words at the end. 

Even in the memory Hannibal was impressed. Will had struck the right mix of tension and insecurity, making the performance appear completely sincere and unpracticed. Hannibal was left to conclude that either it had been exactly that, or had been rehearsed so many times Will had stopped thinking and allowed himself to live in the moment, however constructed, as it occurred. Either way it was a fabulous display and Hannibal was intrigued. 

Shifting his stance sightly, Hannibal realized the sun had risen much higher than it should have. He’d been standing at the window lost in thought and memory for far too long. It was still early, but he preferred a significant head start to the day and he was now behind. He performed his morning ablutions and dressed quickly. Due to his station he was expected to have staff, but he retained the bare minimum. He preferred doing many things for himself and had consistently refused any assistance dressing for the day. 

He also preferred to do a significant amount of his own meal preparation, much to the chagrin of his cook. This morning, however, he emerged from his rooms late and she placed a plate in front of him with a twinkle in her eyes. Hannibal allowed an indulgent smile. She enjoyed it when Hannibal rose late - though the occasion was rare - and she cooked breakfast for him. She really was an excellent cook and had made a lovely protein scramble. It was one of Hannibal’s favorites, although they were unfortunately out of the sausage he’d made and what the cook had procured from the butcher wasn’t the same quality. Hannibal strongly preferred to source all his own meat, something his cook indulged but did not understand. 

His breakfast completed, Hannibal set about his day. He had a few appointments, but the day was far from full and he found himself unable to to focus on his normal pursuits. He attempted to read a book, but after reading the same paragraph for the third time he sighed and placed it back on its shelf in the library. 

After a light lunch, he pulled out his sketchbook and attempted to draw the Ponte Vecchio in Florence, where he had spent time as a young man, but found himself too distracted. Eventually he gave in and drew what was occupying his thoughts: the young medium on the front steps of his house, eyes closed, lips pursed, head tilted slightly and chin jutted forward, giving him an impudent look. It was a good likeness, though Hannibal had only met the man once. He had an excellent memory. Using charcoal to shade the light stubble over Will’s chin and cheeks, Hannibal thought Will must look impossibly young and vibrant clean shaven. 

He stared at his sketch. The young man looked almost ecstatic in it, and Hannibal had to admit to himself he’d been taken with the medium. It was rare for him to be so intrigued with another person. He idled away the afternoon hours continuing to draw Will but growing more and more restless until finally he called his driver, determining that it was no longer so early that arriving early would be socially unacceptable. 

When they arrived at the Graham household Hannibal exited the motorcar without waiting for his driver to open the door. At this point his staff were used to the Count’s eccentricities, and his driver made no comment. The Graham home was at the top of a low hill, a long row of steps leading to the entrance. Resisting the urge to race up them two at a time, Hannibal forced himself to move slowly. 

Lifting the heavy knocker, he released it three times on the door and waited patiently for a response. The door was answered not by Will Graham, but by a lovely young woman. She was tall, with long dark hair and piercing eyes that reminded him of Will, causing Hannibal to wonder about their relation. She was clearly much younger - likely young enough to be his daughter, though she seemed too old to be Will’s - although she held herself with enough poise that Hannibal was uncertain of her precise age. She looked splendid in a powder blue dress that complimented her eyes. 

“Good evening,” she said politely, though the question of who he was and what he was doing there was evident in her face. 

“Good evening,” Hannibal graced her with his kindest, most humble smile. “I’m a bit early, I’m afraid.”

“You’re here for the séance,” she said, stepping back from the door slightly. “You’re quite a bit early, actually, the other guests won’t arrive until at least half past.” 

“My humblest apologies,” Hannibal said. “I am Count Hannibal Lector VIII” 

He extended his hand and the young woman extended her own in response. “Abigail,” she said. 

“Well, Abigail,” Hannibal said, grabbing her hand with one of his own and sweeping his waistcoat back with the other, he bowed to kiss her hand with a flourish. “I am quite pleased to make your acquaintance.” 

She blushed prettily in response to the gesture, and Will took that moment to appear in the doorway. Hannibal stood and, clicking his heels together, inclined his head and upper body toward the medium. 

“Mr. Graham,” he said. Will’s eyes appeared more grey than blue, flinty and uncertain. He placed a hand protectively on Abigail’s shoulder, subtly drawing her toward him and away from the doorway. 

“Count Lecter,” he said, a cold edge to his voice. “Please come in.”

Hannibal considered the medium’s stiff posture and the coldness in his voice and realized Will had misread his intentions. 

“Would you fetch some tea, Abigail?” Will asked politely. Abigail nodded, but before she left Hannibal turned to her again. 

“Abigail, my child, it was lovely to meet you.” Abigail bristled slightly at “my child,” but out of the corner of his eye Hannibal could see Will’s posture relaxing. 

“We can have tea in the sitting room,” Will said, ushering Hannibal inside. He took a seat in an old armchair, gesturing for Hannibal to make himself comfortable. Taking a seat on the light green camelback couch, he considered the room. Nothing seemed to match, but it was somehow comfortable and inviting. The items were old but well cared for and well made; the couch on which he was currently sitting was flamed mahogany. The side tables appeared to be cherry, one round and one square. The coffee table was made out of an old wooden chest. Someone with knowledge of wood had sanded and stained it a maroon color. 

“Do you like the table?” Will asked, watching Hannibal take in the room and focus on the coffee table. 

“It’s lovely,” Hannibal said. “Someone took great care to treat the wood well. May I ask who made it?” 

Will’s chuckle was soft and musical; it seemed to infuse the room with warmth. 

“He made it,” Abigail said, entering the room with a tray of tea. “Will is an excellent craftsman. But he probably wouldn’t tell you that himself.”

“Abigail.” Will’s voice carried a note of fond warning. 

“What?” she asked. “I wasn’t eavesdropping. I was walking in, I heard his question, and I knew you weren’t going to say anything.”

Will shook his head as Hannibal watched him curiously. 

“Sugar, cream, or both?” Abigail asked. 

“You’re very kind, but I’m happy to prepare my own tea,” Hannibal said. 

Abigail raised an eyebrow at him, and he was struck again by the similarity to Will. “I believe you’re our guest, so I should serve you. Should I not?”

It was Hannibal’s turn to chuckle. He enjoyed her direct manner and clear speech. And she was correct, after all. “A drop of cream, please,” he said. “No sugar.” 

She complied, pouring only a drop and preparing the tea precisely as he liked it. Without asking, she placed a single cube of sugar into a cup and passed it to Will, before placing four into her own. Will gave her the same eyebrow she had given Hannibal when she appeared to be reaching for a fifth cube. 

“I like it sweet,” she said, shrugging, though she set down the tongs and left it at four. Looking at Will she said, “I’ll be in the garden if you need me.” She gave Hannibal a large smile and took her leave. 

“It’s unlike a Count to offer to prepare his own tea.” Will gave him a considering look, but Hannibal remained placid. 

“I spent much of my young life doing things for myself. I suppose I enjoy it.” He gave a slight shrug. 

Will said nothing, blowing gently on his tea before taking a small sip. Hannibal considered the table again. It had most likely been an old travel chest; he’d seen many of them on his voyage to the Americas, though his belongings at the time took up far less space. 

“It was my grandmother’s,” Will said. “It was doing no good in the attic.” 

“It really is lovely,” Hannibal said softly, looking at Will over his tea. The other man seemed pleased at the compliment. He wasn’t obvious about it, but Hannibal had long been interested in the minds of others and had studied people well. He caught the edges of a smile as Will looked down and gently swirled the warm liquid in his cup. 

“May I ask about Abigail?” Hannibal asked, his curiosity getting the better of him. 

“Abigail is my ward,” Will said flatly, the steel glint once again clear in his eyes. The hardness and challenge there sent a bolt of frisson down Hannibal’s spine. More than meets the eye most certainly; from that look alone he knew that Will Graham had the potential to be quite a dangerous man. 

“Relative?” Hannibal asked, continuing to prod but keeping his voice gentle. Will regarded him with narrowed eyes. 

“You don’t like to let matters drop, do you Count Lecter?” Will asked. Hannibal did not respond immediately, allowing the silence to settle between then. Will took another sip of his tea, seeming unbothered. Finally, he set his cup down on the table and met Hannibal’s eyes. 

“No,” he said. “She’s not my relative. But how she became my ward is a story for another time.” His tone was not unkind but made it clear the matter was closed; at least for the moment. 

Hannibal was surprised. Abigail reminded him so much of Will he’d been certain there was a relation. Will seemed to catch the feeling. 

“You’re not the first to think that,” he said. “There’s a passing physical similarity and she’s been with me for three years. You -“ he paused, considering the best way to explain, “- pick up certain things.” 

Glancing to the clock, he stood. “I need to take care of a few things before the production starts.”

Hannibal moved to stand which caused Will to smile, eyes filled with mirth. 

“Trying to determine more of my secrets, Count?” His voice was soft and teasing. It was possible Hannibal was simply being polite, of course, standing as his host left the room. But Will seemed fully aware that was not the case. The edges of his lips twitched, not quite a smile. He tilted his head in invitation. “Unless you’d prefer to stay and finish your tea?” 

Hannibal shook his head and followed. 

As it turned out the the preparations were laying a black tablecloth over the table in the dining room and setting up the candles Hannibal remembered from the week before. Will closed and latched the windows, drawing the curtains, before lighting the candles.

“Have a seat, Count Lecter,” Will said. “The other attendees will be arriving shortly and I need to see them in.” Hannibal nodded and took a seat at the table. He was disappointed that the preparations had been nothing more than creating ambiance. Perhaps the knocking truly was the only thing Will added. He sat patiently as the other guests arrived and were ushered in. Most of them were new, but Hannibal recognized a woman from the week prior as she took the seat next to him. 

“Why Count Lecter!” she chirped, excitedly. “How lovely that you decided to return.” She gripped his forearm in a gesture of familiarity Hannibal found himself barely tolerating. 

“Mrs. Komeda,” Hannibal said. “Lovely to see you as well.”

“Mr. Graham truly is an excellent medium,” she said, her eyes moving from Hannibal to Will as he ushered the final guest into the room. Hannibal watched Will as well. He was in his element, fully in control of the proceedings: calm, somewhat enigmatic. His posture was somehow both straighter and more languid, his eyes distant, but his face relaxed and placid. The shift was small but significant. This was not the same Will with whom he’d been drinking tea only moments ago. Hannibal watched him with curiosity. 

“Yes,” he said. “I admit I was quite intrigued last week.” 

She patted his arm conspiratorially. “He’s quite handsome as well,” she said, watching Will as he entered the room. Hannibal turned to look at her, surprised at the salaciousness of the comment. She laughed lightly, amused. “There’s certainly no harm in looking,” she said, _sotto voce._

Hannibal did not respond, instead turning his eyes back to the medium as Mrs. Komeda’s hand remained on his forearm. He thought about how he’d drawn Will earlier; lips pursed and gentle, waiting. He felt the same flutter in his stomach that he’d felt the week prior and swallowed against it once more.

He watched as Will turned to survey the guests, announcing that he would be dimming the lights. Hannibal thought the medium’s glance lingered on Mrs. Komeda’s hand, which was still resting on his arm, but if Will had any thoughts about their apparent familiarity he kept them well hidden. 

With the electric lights off and only the candles the room took on a warm, close feeling. There was an air of anticipation, a feeling of possibility. It was interesting, Hannibal thought, to experience things a second time. Will took his seat at the table, telling everyone to clasp hands. Hannibal hadn’t considered it during the first séance, focused as he was on finding the devices used to create the atmosphere and exposing the man, but Will didn’t indulge in some of the other spectacle mediums used. 

Of course, most mediums were female, so perhaps the black veil as a bridal veil to the spirit world would have been a bit much. But Hannibal noted that, although Will’s clothing was muted, it was not black. He also did not indulge in some of the other pageantry. The only explicit warning he gave the crowd was the usual. He told them to close their eyes, and that no matter what they saw or heard they were not to open them until he told him it was acceptable to do so. 

The other guests obeyed and immediately closed their eyes, most of them bowing their heads though Will had not requested it. Hannibal was sitting immediately across from him at the table and watched him for a few extra moments. Will met his gaze, smiled, and winked before closing his own eyes. 

The man had winked at him. 

Hannibal was astonished and surprisingly pleased. Will was a far more enjoyable conspirator than the woman to his right who was currently clasping his hand quite a bit harder than was strictly necessary. Ducking his head slightly to hide his own smile, though from who he was uncertain, Hannibal closed his eyes. 

Will’s voice was surprisingly lyrical as he called to the spirits. His voice changed slightly as he engaged one man, delivering a message from his mother. Another man, Anthony, mourned a lost love that Will assured him was well in the afterlife, before admonishing him to continue living and seek out the woman he currently had fond feelings for. 

Hannibal found himself lulled into a calm, almost sleepy state by Will’s voice. Perhaps he was focusing on it more the second time. He had been nothing but aware during his first visit, but this time he felt himself being absorbed into the feel of the room; a tired sort of calm. 

That is, until the window abruptly blew open, cool night air rushing in and snuffing out the candles. A woman stood, suddenly knocking the table. 

“He’s here,” she said, wailing, “I knew he would be. I didn’t want to speak to him,” 

“Relax,” Will said, his voice calm but commanding. “This is a safe space, he cannot harm you here. What would you say to him?”

The woman proceeded to let loose a surprising tirade that caused Hannibal to open his eyes in shock and watch her curiously. The moonlight coming through the window allowed enough light to see that her eyes remained closed. Will’s were open and he met Hannibal’s in amusement. 

Suddenly the knocks began. Will’s eyes hadn’t moved from Hannibal’s and he still appeared relaxed and calm. He smiled at Hannibal as the knocks continued in rapid succession. They seemed to be coming from all over the room. The other guests raised their heads, craning their ears, but kept their eyes obediently closed. The knocks stopped abruptly. 

Will pitched his voice lower and it took on a somber timbre, sounding somehow far away. “He is gone,” Will said. “He will not trouble you again.” 

The woman began to sob, and Will exhaled several times in quick succession, allowing a soft moan. He shook himself. “You may open your eyes,” he said. Seven sets of eyes opened, eight regarding him with curiosity. He stood, slowly, and turned up the lights before moving to the other side of the room to close the window. 

“If the spirits did not reach out to speak to you tonight, I apologize,” he said as he closed the window, voice soft. It was entirely unlike his presence at the table, and yet he was still fully in command. Hannibal was enthralled. "Spirits are fickle and speak when they choose. I hope you will return next week.” 

Will turned to look at the table. “This concludes our time tonight. Thank you for being here.” 

Though polite, the group had clearly been dismissed. With the exception of Hannibal they stood, chattering, and walked slowly toward the door where Abigail appeared to usher them out. Hannibal watched Will, who was watching him, as he remained seated. 

“How did you do it?” Hannibal asked. 

Will smiled. “You already found my wires.”

Hannibal shook his head. “The window.”

Will shrugged. “Happy accident. The wind blew it open. It added to the performance.”

“I watched you latch it,” Hannibal said, suspicious. 

Will tilted his head slightly and Hannibal considered the curve of his throat, pale and sweet. He focused on the point beneath Will’s jaw where his pulse hummed steadily, wondering how it would feel to apply pressure there. There were many different ways the medium might react and Hannibal was curious which he would choose. 

“Indeed you did,” Will said after a quiet moment. “I must have done it poorly. Or I need to replace my latch.” 

He appeared calm. His breathing hadn’t changed, his posture was relaxed and his face, though carefully schooled and difficult to read, held the barest hint of amusement. And yet Hannibal could feel himself being read with a focused intensity. It was almost as though Will were clawing at the edges of his mind, scrambling for access. 

“I suppose that must be it,” he said carefully. There was an odd sort of intensity in the medium and Hannibal found himself longing to feel along the edges to determine its form - to prod it and see what reaction he provoked. Most people were so easy to predict if pushed. He suspected Will Graham would surprise him.

“Did you get what you hoped out of tonight?” Will asked, the intensity of his gaze receding somewhat as he took in the - quite intentional - relaxation of Hannibal’s posture. 

The corners of Hannibal’s mouth twitched. The question could be interpreted multiple ways, which was no doubt intentional. He swallowed the question he wanted to ask, afraid voicing it would betray an eagerness that could be mistaken for the same need as Will’s other customers. But Will seemed aware of it anyway. 

“Did she speak any other languages in life?” he asked quietly. 

“A small amount of French,” Hannibal said. “She was very young and never able to fully realize the opportunities of the education she would have received.”

“She speaks frequently,” Will said, voice taking on the same dreamy, faraway quality it had during the séance. “But unfortunately not often clearly.” 

His eyes sharpened as he focused on Hannibal. “I was hoping her words would become clearer while you were here, as they did last time. Instead it’s like a quiet buzz at the back of my skull. If I understood the language I would catch more. But I do not.”

An easy excuse, Hannibal thought with less distaste than he expected. The explanation was somewhat cliché, but there was a ring of sincerity to it he couldn’t quite shake. He wanted to believe Will, he realized. There was something about the man that drew him in. 

“Perhaps next week she will have mercy on me and speak some French,” Will spoke easily into Hannibal’s silence. Then with a considering look he continued, “That is, if you intend to return.” 

A pleasant warmth bloomed in Hannibal’s chest as he realized Will was asking not simply out of curiosity, but because he wanted him to return. Although not a man typically given to impulse, Hannibal gave in to the one he had now. 

“Would you do me the honor of joining me for dinner before then?” he asked. “This Friday, if you are free?” 

Will looked surprised. He nodded, slowly. “It would be my pleasure, Count Lecter.” 

“Very well, then,” Hannibal allowed a genuine smile to grace his features. “Here is my card with my address. Shall we say 8pm?”

Will took the card, pointer finger tracing across the embossed name before he pocketed it. “Thank you,” he said quietly, “I’ll see you then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a rough outline of where I want this to go, but I welcome suggestions/ideas. Feedback is appreciated and will keep me going - your thoughts give me ideas and I love the collaborative aspect of having people read and respond! (But thank you for reading regardless).


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will joins Hannibal for dinner.

“When you invited me to dinner I didn’t imagine you’d be the one cooking it,” Will said, amusement once again dancing across his features. He’d appeared nervous as Hannibal’s butler showed him into the kitchen but recovered quickly, smiling when Hannibal poured and handed him a glass of wine; an Amarone della Valpolicella that would pair well with the lamb.

Hannibal allowed his fingers to linger on Will’s as he passed him the glass, once again giving in to an impulse he wasn’t quite sure he understood. He was pleased when Will did not pull away, but met his gaze steadily, fingers slowly curling around the stem of the wine glass as he pulled it toward him. 

“I told you I enjoy doing things for myself,” he said. “I also enjoy doing things for friends.”

Will took a small sip of the wine before swirling it slowly, tilting the glass after it settled and considering the wine legs. Hannibal wasn’t certain of Will’s thought process as he stared into the glass - if he was savoring the wine the way he thought a sommelier might, if it was simple curiosity, or if it was a way to focus his thoughts. 

“Do you imagine us friends, Count Lecter?” he asked quietly, looking into the wine. 

Hannibal paused, choosing his words carefully. “I believe we have the opportunity for friendship,” he said. 

Will chuckled. “You came into my home with the intention to expose me as a fraud. That’s not a conventional start to a friendship.” He lifted his eyes to meet Hannibal’s, cheeks slightly rosy from the wine. He said the words calmly and without malice, but the challenge was unmistakable. 

“Perhaps not,” Hannibal conceded, “But I confess you defied my expectations.” 

“Did you invite me to dinner to learn more about me or my secrets?” Will sipped his wine casually, not betraying any reaction.

“Are we not our secrets?” Hannibal asked. “The desire to know one is not so different than the other.”

“We are not only our secrets. There is more to us than the things we keep hidden from others.” Will tilted his head slightly in a way that was becoming familiar and took another sip of his wine.

“The things we hide often influence us in particular ways. Understanding our secrets informs our understanding of ourselves - and others.”

“You make it sound as though we are unaware not only of other’s secrets, but of our own as well.” 

“Unaware of how they influence us, perhaps.” 

“Are you interested in the talking therapy, Count?” It was phrased as a question but wasn’t, reminiscent of their initial encounter. Will’s smile was almost coy, and Hannibal found himself smiling in return. 

“As you are no doubt aware.” Hannibal picked up his own wine glass, glad he had given in to the impulse to invite the medium to dinner. He was enjoying this immensely. “If you questioned my intentions, why agree to my invitation?”

“Why did you invite me?” Will deflected. It was a casual parry, feeling out an opponent that he expected to face on the piste for some time.

Considering many potential responses, Hannibal decided on the truth. “Curiosity.” 

“Then you have your answer, Count Lecter.” 

Hannibal raised his glass in response. “To curiosity, then,” he said, meeting Will’s eyes as he drank. 

Though he plated the food in the kitchen, Hannibal urged Will into the dining room to eat. After seeing his guest properly settled he retrieved the decanter to refill their wineglasses, pausing momentarily in the doorframe to watch Will. The medium’s eyes flitted across the art on the walls, taking in the table’s centerpiece and the herbs in various containers throughout the room. His fingers moved back and forth across the mahogany table, tracing the grain of the wood. It might have been reverence for the wood or a grounding process. Or perhaps something entirely unconscious, borne of an impulse he didn’t acknowledge - one of the secrets Hannibal hoped to uncover. 

“Thank you,” Will murmured as Hannibal reached around him to fill his glass. Will waited patiently for Hannibal to top off his own wine glass and sit, watching to see when he would lift his fork. Hannibal smiled at the show of politeness.

“Lamb tangine over a bed of lemon-herb couscous,” Hannibal said, gesturing for Will to begin. Though it was typical for the host to eat first, Hannibal preferred to watch his guests take their first bites - particularly when he cooked - so that he could savor the moment. He watched Will now, as he speared a piece of lamb with his fork and placed it delicately on his tongue, jaw muscles working as he chewed, throat expanding and constricting as he swallowed. His eyes closed briefly, and Hannibal noted the flutter of dark eyelashes over his cheeks before his eyes opened again and looked to Hannibal appreciatively. 

“It’s delicious,” Will said. 

“A Morrocan dish. I had the pleasure of visiting the country while I was in Italy during my youth,” Hannibal explained. “It has since been placed under a combination of French and Spanish protection, but was independent at the time.”

“What part of Italy?” Will asked conversationally. 

“Florence,” Hannibal said. “Have you been?” 

Will gave him an amused smile. “I moved here from Louisiana, Count. I wasn’t in the war, so that is the extent of my travel.”

That was a pity, Hannibal thought. He was oddly certain that Will would enjoy Florence. 

“War is not the best reason for travel, at any rate,” he commented. Much of Europe was still rebuilding and he wondered what he would find there, were he to visit. Certainly it would have changed from his youthful encounters with the city; a combination of the natural changes of time, the devastation of war and the changes of perception that come with age. It was what impact the war may have had that most interested him, however. The destructive capacity of humanity was endless and fascinating.

“For some of us it is the only opportunity,” Will said, interrupting his thoughts. The medium’s voice held a sharp edge. 

“Have you never investigated taking your skills abroad?” Hannibal asked, genuinely curious. Although he’d traveled to most of the other spiritualists he’d investigated, several of them traveled the country themselves and he’d heard of many traveling through Europe. 

Will shook his head but otherwise chose not to answer, instead focusing on his food. He seemed to be thoroughly enjoying it, and Hannibal watched him for a few moments with no small amount of pleasure. Hannibal himself was eating more slowly and he paused to take a drink, appreciating how the rich flavors of cherry liqueur and cinnamon in the wine complemented the dried apricots in the lamb.

He allowed the silence to stretch, watching Will. Mrs Komeda had been right when she commented that he was attractive, though Hannibal was rather more interested in what was going on in the medium’s head at the moment. He had suddenly lost his grip on his fork, dropping it to the table and sliding back in his chair in a sudden, quick movement. Two fingers raised to his head, massaging his left temple slowly. 

Hannibal reached out to touch the other man’s shoulder. “Are you alright?”

Will nodded, reaching for his wine glass and taking a long drink. He twitched and Hannibal removed his hand, feeling a surprising sense of loss as he did. The medium ran a hand through his hair, mussing the dark curls. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, sinking back into the chair and sighing. “Sometimes the politeness, the conversation . . . your clear interest in me. I can feel it. It’s a lot.” 

“I apologize. I don’t intend my interest to be obtrusive,” Hannibal said politely, though he found himself even more intrigued at the other man’s sudden loss of composure. He seemed so collected in his home, but perhaps that was because he was in his element. “And you need not be overly focused on politeness when in the company of a friend.” 

“I’m sorry - I don’t mean,” Will sighed again, almost a strangled noise. “I’m enjoying myself. Quite a bit,” he said quietly and Hannibal felt a flood of warmth at the admission. 

Will waved a hand in the air. “I understand people’s thoughts. In a way, I sense their emotions. I try to put it to good use, but it can be overwhelming at times. Or simply confusing.” He fixed Hannibal with an intense look. “I understand why you might find me curious. I don’t understand your overture of friendship.”

“You consider my overture of friendship to be insincere?” Hannibal asked. 

Will considered him at length. “No. But I find your motives particularly inscrutable.”

Hannibal smiled but offered no explanation. The brief glimpses he’d caught of the dark intensity in the medium were more than enough for him to want to know more. He wanted to pull those parts of Will out from where they were hidden and examine them from every angle.

However, he could not deny he’d been somewhat impetuous. Though he did not ignore his instincts he typically took more time to investigate them, carefully considering all possible causes for the feeling and the potential outcomes prior to taking any action. With Will he found himself acting with significantly less thought than was usual for him. There was a risk involved with that type of behavior, he realized, but so far he felt only rewarded. He was genuinely enjoying the young man’s company. 

“It’s refreshing, if I’m being honest,” Will said, echoing Hannibal’s thoughts. 

Desert was _kaab el ghazal m’fenned_ , another Moroccan dish to fit the theme of the evening: crescent shaped cookies with a cinnamon flavored almond filling, the pastry and filling enriched with orange blossom water. The cookies were then dipped in the same and dusted with sugar. Hannibal served them with a mint tea.

“Did you make these as well?” Will asked, clearly impressed. “And would it be rude to have another?” 

Hannibal’s eyes twinkled. He had hoped to impress and was glad to have achieved his goal. “I believe I said not to concern yourself too much with politeness among friends,” he said. “And regardless, having another would be a compliment to the chef. One that I graciously accept.” 

He reached for another cookie himself and took a bite, watching Will as he did the same and chuckling at their shared indulgence. Will’s eyes were shining in the candlelight of the table and the slight flush of alcohol on his cheeks made him look almost cherubic. Hannibal watched as he ate, sipped his tea and licked his lips to rid them of lingering sugar. 

The evening was drawing to a close, and in a effort to prolong it Hannibal asked Will to join him for a nightcap in the sitting room. He often liked to sit and read or sketch before retiring for the evening and his staff, understanding this habits, already had a fire going. Hannibal moved to the sideboard. His hand wavered over several decanters before selecting the Glenlivet. He poured two fingers each and passed a tumbler to Will, who made himself comfortable in one of the armchairs and was looking intently into the fire. 

“Whiskey,” Hannibal offered. 

“Thank you,” Will seemed genuinely pleased. Hannibal preferred scotch, when it came to it, but the only alcohol he’d noted in the medium’s home was a half-empty bottle of whiskey. He would have to introduce Will to scotch in the future, but it was exceedingly pleasant to sit in front of the fire with good company and he was satisfied to indulge his guest's taste. 

“You mentioned you moved here from Louisiana,” Hannibal said. “May I ask why the move?”

Will seemed to have sunk into his chair, his body loose and languid. His mind, however, was no such thing. 

“You may,” he said, “though I will decline to answer. For the sake of not ruining such a pleasant evening.” 

Hannibal chuckled. “That makes the reason all the more interesting.” 

Will turned to look at him, eyes sharp. “My father lived here,” he said, though it clearly wasn’t the answer Hannibal was searching for. 

“How long have you been in Baltimore, then?” Hannibal asked, deciding not to probe further into Will’s reasons for moving at the moment. He anticipated many more evenings like this one; that could be saved for another time. 

“Just shy of three years,” he said, sipping his whiskey.

“Were you also a medium in Louisiana?” Hannibal asked. 

Will laughed softly. “Perhaps you should have done more research on me, Count. Then you would know I was a cop.”

“And did you research me, before I came to my first séance?” 

“Somewhat,” Will admitted. “But not extensively. I knew you were attempting to expose me as a fraud, and I knew what you would find. Knowing your history beyond that wasn’t meaningful to our interaction.”

That was curious. It stood to reason that Will would want to know as much as possible in order to be convincing. But once again, Hannibal did not get the impression he was being untruthful - which left him to consider how the medium had managed the message from Mischa.

“Forgive me,” he pressed, “but what causes a police officer to become a medium?” 

“I was stabbed,” Will said, bluntly, rolling his right shoulder. He probably wasn’t even aware he was doing so. “And the dead speak,” he added much more quietly, starring into his empty glass. He was speaking more to himself than to Hannibal, who had to strain to hear the words. Will’s eyes drifted to the fire as he lost himself in thought. Hannibal watched as his face took on the familiar intensity. It was as though he was reliving whatever moment he was recalling, fully present in the memory. 

“Another?” Hannibal asked, when it became clear Will was not going to speak any more on the subject. At least, not tonight. 

Will roused himself and shook his head. “The evening has been quite pleasant, Count Lecter, and I appreciate the hospitality you’ve shown me. But it’s late and I should be going.” 

Hannibal nodded. “Allow me one moment - I would like to send some of our dessert with you. For Abigail.” He saw the familiar flash in Will’s eyes at the mention of the young woman’s name and wondered what made him so protective of her. Something else he would find out in due time. 

Returning from the kitchen, Hannibal pressed a package into Will’s hands. “I’ve arranged for my driver to take you,” he said. When Will appeared about to refuse, he added, “I’ve kept you very late to indulge my desire for your company. It’s the least I can do.” 

Will’s cheeks were slightly flushed from fire and alcohol, but if Hannibal was not mistaken the color deepened ever so slightly at his statement. Interesting. 

He opened his front door and was ushering Will out when the young man stopped and turned. Hannibal had been following him perhaps a bit too closely and for a moment Will was nearly flush against his chest. He felt a surprising urge to wrap his arms around the medium and press him closer, but before he was fully aware of the thought Will exhaled sharply and took a step back. 

“Sorry,” he said. “I -“ He paused, looking up at Hannibal. “ _Ką matai pamatęs mane?_ ”

Once again his pronunciation was very good, but not perfect, the language clearly unfamiliar to him. 

“What does it mean?” he asked, his eyes searching Hannibal’s face. 

“What do you see when you see me?” Hannibal translated. 

Will let out an awkward laugh. “I suppose I still have the same question, even when I hear it in English.”

“Did you hear it just now?” Hannibal asked. 

Will shook his head. “During dinner. She was loud, after having been quiet for a long while. It - took me by surprise.” 

“It’s something I asked my sister when we were quite young,” Hannibal explained after some consideration. “Why didn’t you tell me when you heard it?” 

The medium ran a hand through his hair self-consciously. “I didn’t want you to think I was performing,” he said. “I almost didn’t say anything, but she wanted you to hear it and I couldn’t leave without telling you.”

Hannibal nodded but said nothing. He was rarely rendered speechless or thrown off balance, but the medium had accomplished it several times during their brief acquaintance. 

“Will I see you on Tuesday?” Will asked. He also seemed suddenly uncertain - perhaps worried that his revelation changed things. Hannibal smiled. In their uncertainty they were equal and that pleased him. 

“I look forward to it,” he said. “And thank you again for a pleasant evening.” 

After Will left, Hannibal returned to the sitting room. Staring into the fire he considered the medium’s - Mischa’s - words. 

They had been playing in the woods around the castle, chasing fireflies, when a wolf appeared. Though wolves were not unusual in Lithuania, it was unusual to see one so close to the castle or to have one appear to so close to people - they were typically deterred by the noise of humans. This one did not appear afraid. Mischa immediately wanted to run, but Hannibal knew the wolf would only give chase. 

“Stay here,” he commanded, and she curled into a ball and closed her eyes. Picking up two large sticks Hannibal knocked them together loudly and repeatedly, moving toward the wolf, teeth bared. He thought for a moment he’d made the wrong decision and the wolf would attack them both, but it didn’t. Instead, it turned and ran. 

“How did you scare it away?” Mischa asked when he returned to her. 

“I made myself loud and scary,” Hannibal said.

“But the wolf would still see a little boy,” she said. “Little boys aren’t scary.”

“I made myself something else.” Hannibal picked up the sticks and bared his teeth at her. “What do you see when you see me?”

She looked at him with a mixture of fear and awe. “A beast.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was concerned when writing this chapter that it might be a bit dialogue-heavy. Hopefully it wasn't too much. 
> 
> As for Hannibal's encounter with the wolf: immediately going on the attack is the wrong move, but you are supposed to show the wolf you mean business and fight back aggressively if it attacks. So it's not entirely unrealistic. (Plus, it's Hannibal).


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal spends the afternoon with an old friend and gets to know Abigail better. Or tries to.
> 
> 11/16 - made a super minor edit for grammar/consistency that I missed before posting. no content changes

The scent in the orchid room was fainter in the afternoon, though still pleasant. Standing in front of the _dendrobium anosmum_ , Hannibal reflected on the ever changing scent of the flower. The scent of an orchid tended to shift the longer one lingered in front of them, though there were a few exceptions. The _satyrium pumilum’s_ smell of rotting flesh tended not to change. The flower had evolved to fit a specific need, fine tuning its smell to lure the flies it required for pollination. Death, or at least the perception of it, was what allowed the flower to propagate.

Hannibal closed his eyes briefly and imagined Will beside him. If Will were here, he would tell him about the different orchid varieties and their scents, including the _satyrium pumilum_. He could picture the interest and amusement in the medium’s eyes; the same look he gave Hannibal during dinner when he shared the background of the dish they were enjoying. 

He wondered if Will would like the orchid room, or if he would accept an invitation to spend the afternoon there at all. Or morning. Morning would allow them to capture the scents of the flowers more strongly, and maybe Hannibal could entice the medium to join him for lunch. 

He considered the possibility lunch with Will - perhaps he would bring a picnic - as he studied the flower in front of him: lavender with two burgundy dots on either side of the lip. It initially had a fruity fragrance, beginning with the tartness of raspberries before shifting to strawberry, rhubarb and then finally the strongly floral scent of hyacinth. 

Next to him a woman picked up a discarded bloom and rolled it between her thumb and forefinger, crushing it slightly and transferring some of the oils on to her skin before releasing it and allowing it to drop back to the floor of the conservatory, watching as it fell. Her fingers would smell faintly of the flower for the rest of the afternoon, though without Hannibal’s finely attuned sense of smell she likely wouldn’t notice. 

He turned to look at her. She was quite thin, but instead of appearing gaunt she had a wiry look; muscles coiled tightly beneath her skin and ready to react at a moment’s notice. High cheekbones and imperious ice blue eyes combined with light blonde hair gave her a cold, slightly haughty look. She wasn’t tall but stood as though she were, so that despite her shorter stature she often seemed to be looking down on others, scrutinizing them as though they were smudges on the edge of a wineglass. 

Her smile didn’t reach her eyes, but it rarely did. She regarded him with calm detachment. He considered her something of a kindred spirit in that respect; a calculating mind behind a careful facade of politeness.

“I prefer the _oncidiums_ , personally,” she said. He was not surprised that would be her choice. The vanillas and chocolates of those particular orchids were more straightforward scents, less layered in complexity. She enjoyed metaphors but was direct in her own way. Her candor made her interesting. 

“Good Afternoon, Bedelia,” Hannibal responded politely. 

“Hannibal.” She angled her chin slightly in acknowledgement. 

“Shall we walk?” Hannibal asked. She gave him her arm, wordlessly. 

They were quiet as they strolled out of the conservatory toward Druid Lake. It was a pleasant afternoon for a walk. The weather was unseasonably warm, but after years of living in Baltimore Hannibal had discovered that a period of unusual warmth in the fall was, in fact, usual. 

Bedelia looked splendid in an emerald green dress that accentuated her trim figure but flowed loosely from her waist. They were a fine pair, earning appraising glances as they passed other couples out enjoying the weather. Bedelia’s lips curled in amusement. 

Hannibal imagined walking the paths of Dru Hill with Will. He pictured the medium giving him the same impish grin he did in the middle of a séance, as though they were the only two in on a joke. Perhaps they would pause and stand in front of the Lake, enjoying the blue water of reservoir. Or perhaps Will would want to visit the monuments. He had probably been to the park before, having lived in Baltimore a few years now, but perhaps not. And Hannibal found himself wanting to share experiences with Will with greater and greater frequency. 

“I hear you’ve been spending time with a spiritualist,” Bedelia said, pulling him from his thoughts. 

“Yes,” Hannibal agreed. “Though he prefers to be referred to as a medium.” 

Bedelia turned to look at him, right eyebrow forming a question mark. “Is there a difference?” she asked, then continued, “and, if I may be so bold, at what point did you begin concerning yourself about his preferred moniker? You set out to prove spiritualists are frauds, and instead you seem to be forming a friendship with one.” 

Hannibal shrugged. “He was not what I expected. I find him intriguing.” 

“So it’s true,” she said softly. She chuckled at Hannibal’s questioning look, a soft, breathy sound. “Have you stopped reading the society pages then?” Stopping in her stride, she scrutinized him. 

“I never read them closely,” Hannibal said, though they were both aware that was untrue. In fact, he was an avid reader of Freddie Lounds’ column and she had considerable speculation about his current interest in spiritualism.

“What about him convinced you, Hannibal?” Bedelia asked. “I’ve heard he’s quite good. Sought after, in fact. But you’re not one who is easily swayed.” 

“As I said, he’s intriguing,” he said, the words clipped but polite. He had not seen Bedelia in several weeks and had been pleased at her invitation to meet. He’d suspected this line of questioning and had prepared for it, but nonetheless would rather end it. 

He again saw something of himself in Bedelia when she didn’t respond or change the subject, but continued to look at him with that same calm detachment, awaiting a more satisfying response. 

“He gave me a message from my sister,” he said, finally. 

Bedelia’s eyebrow arched, but still she said nothing.

“It was after the séance, not during,” Hannibal continued. “He spoke Lithuanian.”

“And that convinced you?” Disbelief was clear in her tone. “That it didn’t occur during the séance doesn’t mean it wasn’t part of the performance, as I’m sure you are aware.”

“He doesn’t speak Lithuanian,” Hannibal said, “but nonetheless it was the content of the message that intrigued me. It was something that happened when I was very young. Something I have not shared with anyone.”

“I’m surprised at you, Hannibal,” Bedelia said. “He claims not to speak Lithuanian, but it seems his past is something of a mystery. Has it occurred to you that he might know the language after all?”

“Yes,” Hannibal said. “And I considered that perhaps someone translated the message and coached him on the words.” 

“There are ways to discover even your secrets,” Bedelia said softly. “Who might he have spoken to? Think carefully.”

Hannibal shook his head. “Anyone he might have spoken to died long ago.” 

Once again Bedelia said nothing. Her silence was expectant, though not uncomfortable, but Hannibal didn’t fill it. 

Eventually she smiled, her face beautiful but without warmth. “Will Graham has beguiled you, Hannibal. You’ve attended - what, four séances, now?” 

“Five,” Hannibal corrected. 

“And how many times have you had him for dinner?” Bedelia asked. 

Hannibal didn’t answer. “Why is who I spend time with of such interest?” 

“You’re a Count, Hannibal. Not to mention someone who so publicly sought to discredit spiritualists spending time with one appears to give him legitimacy. Have you considered that he may be using you?”

“Yes,” Hannibal said. “But I do not believe that he is. He said he didn’t research me before I first appeared. Beyond that which was well known already.” 

“And you believed him, of course. You appear too _curious_ about him to care,” Bedelia commented. Untangling her arm from his, she laid her hand on his forearm. “Be cautious, Hannibal. People talk.” 

“I find I care less about what they have to say, recently.” He allowed some irritation to seep into his words. 

Bedelia’s smile was more genuine this time, her laugh more musical. “You’ve never cared about what they had to say. You cultivated your mask to society and only cared about others opinions so far as they enhance the image you created.” 

“I could say something similar about you,” Hannibal countered. 

“Yes,” she acquiesced. “We are alike in that manner. But I would still urge you to exercise caution. That mask has served you well.” 

Hannibal looked at her. Her eyes were narrowed, lips slightly pursed. She had always seen him better than most - it was one reason they had maintained their acquaintance for as long as they had - though she had never completely understood what she saw. He looked out across the lake, spotting a few sailboats on the water. He wondered if Will sailed. 

“Do your thoughts drift to this young man often, Hannibal?” Bedelia asked, softly, causing him to wonder what she had seen on his face. 

“Yes.” He could explain further - Will was unique, and Hannibal wondered what he would have to say about many things - but chose not to. 

“Hannibal Lecter, you old fool,” Bedelia scoffed, though there was a surprising fondness beneath her irritation. “I didn’t think you were capable of it.” 

“I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re referring to,” Hannibal said, bristling slightly. 

“Just be careful,” she said, the amusement finally hitting her eyes. “Most people are not accepting of things that insult their sensibilities, however foolish those sensibilities may be. There will be talk - don’t let your obsession with him harm you.” 

“I’m not obsessed.” He was curious to unravel the medium’s mysteries, certainly. But he was not obsessed. Bedelia’s lips quirked again. 

“Come, let’s enjoy our walk.” She extended her arm to him once again. “It’s been some time since I’ve seen you. Tell me what’s not in the society pages.” 

The drive home from the park took him past Will’s neighborhood, and he instructed his driver to stop by the house. There was no harm in seeing if Will and Abigail were home. He would say hello and invite them to dinner the following day - even though dinners with Will had become something of a habit on Fridays and he had seen the medium only two days prior.

Before he could knock the door opened to reveal Abigail standing in the doorway, clearly surprised. 

“Oh, Count Lecter!” She recovered quickly, smoothing down her dress. Blue again, Hannibal noticed. “Was Will expecting you?” 

“He was not, I’m afraid,” Hannibal said. “I was in the area and thought I would stop by to extend an invitation to dinner.”

Abigail smiled. “You could have sent a card. Or called. I don’t think Will particularly wanted the phone, but it’s useful when many of your clients have one.”

“I’m afraid I don’t have a phone,” Hannibal said. 

The young woman frowned, then laughed. “You have an electric refrigerator but no phone?”

Hannibal’s eyes sparkled. “He told you about the refrigerator, I take it?”

“He was - impressed by it,” she said, then paused, thinking. “He’s not home. He doesn’t like me inviting people in when I’m here alone, although I don’t think he’d mind you being here. But I was heading to the butcher’s for something to prepare for dinner.”

He took in her dress and shoes, both of which were presentable but also comfortable. “Were you intending to walk?” he asked. 

She nodded. “I keep telling Will we should get an automobile, but I think he prefers walking most of the time and taking a cab when he has to. He enjoys being outdoors.”

Hannibal took that in. Perhaps Will would accept an invitation to Dru Hill after all. 

“Allow me to drive you,” Hannibal said. Abigail demurred, though he could tell it was out of politeness. 

“I insist,” he said, causing her to nod happily. 

It was a quick ride, but Abigail seemed to enjoy it. She smiled widely as the wind pushed her hair back from her face and exited the car excitedly, tilting her head back and running her hands through her hair before replacing her hat. As she did, Hannibal noticed a scar running from just under her left ear down to her jawbone and the space underneath her chin. 

She moved her hair back so that it fell straight along the sides of her face and over her shoulders. Her smile faltered briefly before returning, slightly self-conscious, but her eyes held a challenge. She reminded him so strongly of Will - that same combination of vulnerability and strength - that he had to remind himself they weren’t related. 

He had a choice. He could usher her into the butcher shop and direct their conversation toward her plans for dinner, or he could indulge his curiosity and politely ask about the scar. It would be more polite to let the matter drop, but if he could earn her trust, and some of her secrets, perhaps she would also offer insight into Will. 

“May I ask how you got that scar?” he kept his voice soft and gentle. Abigail laughed nervously. 

“I’ve had it for years,” she said. She looked down at her hands. “I’d rather not talk about it, if you don’t mind.”

Hannibal nodded, not allowing his disappointment to show. He wanted to push, but this was another similarity with Will: they kept their secrets closely guarded. If he pushed she would shut down. He could suggest that Will had something to do with the scar to get a reaction, but that would likely anger her - and if she mentioned it to Will would certainly anger him - and Hannibal did not want that outcome. 

Instead he usher her into the butcher’s shop. “What were you planning for dinner?” he asked. 

She shrugged. “Honestly, I wasn’t sure. Will does most of the cooking. I know I should be better at it, but he seems to enjoy it.”

He must have betrayed his surprise. Or perhaps like Will, she was simply good at reading people because she laughed lightly. “No one ever thinks he cooks. But he’s pretty good. Although he said you’re much better.” 

He smiled at her, sensing an opportunity. “I appreciate the complement. And I apologize - I should have included you in one of our dinners already. Perhaps I could make it up to you by cooking tonight?”

She hesitated, but only briefly. “That would be lovely, thank you.” 

Hannibal clasped his hands together and smiled. “Splendid.” 

“Pork belly, please,” he said to the butcher before turning back to Abigail. “Will tells me you are an excellent gardener. Do you have potatoes?” 

Abigail blushed prettily and nodded. 

“What about milk?” Hannibal asked. 

She nodded again. “Will was called away early. It’s in the icebox, though I don’t know how long it will last.” 

“We shall use it,” he smiled. “Now, for spices, what about bay leaves, garlic and paprika?”

“I believe so,” Abigail said hesitantly. 

“Never mind,” Hannibal’s eyes crinkled. “We’ll stop elsewhere to be certain that we’re prepared.”

In addition to the spices, Hannibal procured a few bottles of good wine. With the abstinence movement growing steadily in popularity all varieties of alcohol were becoming more difficult to find. Hannibal was grateful for his well stocked wine cellar, but he still had resources for finding bottles on short notice. Abigail appeared to be impressed. 

Returning to the Graham home, Hannibal unwrapped the pork belly and seasoned it with salt and pepper before placing it in the oven to roast. Abigail harvested potatoes from the garden. He poured wine for both himself and Abigail in tumblers - they did not appear to have wine glasses - and they sipped the Bordeaux as they cleaned and quartered the potatoes.

The pork belly needed to roast for approximately 40 minutes before they added the potatoes and spices so they settled in the sitting room to wait, sipping casually at their wine. 

“This is really good,” Abigail said. 

“Do you drink much wine?” Hannibal asked. 

She shook her head. “Mostly we drink whiskey. Well - Will drinks whiskey. I’m not overly fond of the taste.” She made a face. 

“Has your guardian always been a whiskey drinker?” Hannibal asked. 

Abigail smiled into her glass. “My guardian.” She laughed and looked at Hannibal. “You can call him Will. That’s what I call him.” she said. Her grin turned suddenly impudent, eyes flashing. “Or do you still refer to him as Mr. Graham when you’re alone?”

Hannibal smiled placidly, amused by her attempt to shock. “I enjoy Mr. Graham’s company, but we are not that familiar yet.”

Abigail laughed. “He _would_ still call you Count.” She focused intently on Hannibal. “He thinks of you as a friend. He doesn’t have many friends.”

“No?” Hannibal asked. 

She shrugged. “He’s very solitary. Always has been.”

“You’ve known him a long time,” Hannibal commented. Seeming to realize she’d given away something she would rather not have, Abigail didn’t respond but shrugged again before setting her glass down on the table. 

“Does Will miss Lousiana?” Hannibal asked, trying out the name. He’d been thinking of the medium as Will for some time, but calling him that, even when speaking of him with another, was a new sensation. He liked the way Will’s name felt on his tongue, his lips curling around the “ll” sound.

“Lousiana?” Abigail laughed. “No. His dogs maybe, but not the rest of it.” She paused. “Well, maybe some of the food. At least I miss it.” She picked up her tumbler of wine again and sipped slowly, while Hannibal considered what she had said. 

He wanted to ask more about what caused them to move, but instead he steered toward safer topics. “Will had dogs?” 

Abigail nodded enthusiastically. “Oh yes. He had six or seven, I’m not sure exactly. He used to hunt with them, even though they were all mutts nobody else wanted.”

She swirled the wine, turning the glass in a way that was eerily similar to Will in his kitchen. When she spoke again, she sounded sad. “He found new homes for them before we moved. It was too hard to bring them, he said. I always thought he’d get another dog. He was heartbroken at leaving them behind.” She ran her fingers back and forth across the wood of the table. 

Hannibal watched her curiously, but she did not look at him. Instead she watched her fingers intently as they moved back and forth on the table, clearly lost in thought. 

“You feel guilty about that,” he said, finally. “Why?”

When she looked at him there was a sharpness in her eyes, though it faded quickly to a mixture of sadness and amusement. “Why are you so curious about our history? You don’t need to know it to determine whether or not Will is a fraud.” 

“No,” he agreed, “but I am curious about the experiences of those I consider friends.” 

Though the amused smile remained, she was clearly scrutinizing him. The sharpness of her mind was her own, but he wondered how much of the way she watched him and deflected unwanted questions she had honed from her time with Will. 

“It seems your intentions have changed,” she said. She didn’t wait for him to respond to the statement, instead returning to their other line of conversation. “It’s always sad to leave something you love behind, isn’t it?” 

“Yes.” He waited to see if she would say more. 

“Is it time to add the potatoes?” she asked instead. 

She added the potatoes to the roasting pan and Hannibal sprinkled the meat with paprika, tucking garlic and bay leaves between the meat and potatoes. Abigail pulled the remaining milk from the icebox and added that as well. 

After placing the dish back in the oven, they seated themselves at the kitchen table. Hannibal poured them each another glass of wine. 

“Do you know when Will will be home?” Hannibal asked. 

“He’s home,” came a voice from the doorway. Hannibal looked up, prepared to meet Will’s ire. He was an uninvited guest in his home, alone with his ward. But instead of irritation or outright anger, what he saw on Will’s face was closer to gratitude. He leaned against the doorframe, curls falling gently across his forehead, and Hannibal’s breath hitched. 

“I see you’ve made yourself at home my kitchen, Count,” he said, moving to the table. He was holding a glass of whiskey, and Hannibal could smell that he’d drunk one glass already - probably downing it quickly before refilling the glass and moving to join them. 

“Mr. Graham,” Hannibal said. Beside him Abigail grinned widely and Will smiled in response. 

“By all means call me Will,” he said. “It appears you do when you aren’t addressing me directly, anyway.” His eyes danced in amusement. 

“Then you should call me Hannibal,” Hannibal responded. 

“I don’t know, Hannibal,” Will emphasized his name. “Is that really befitting of a Count? To be called by their christian name by a medium?”

“By a friend,” Hannibal corrected. “And I welcome it.”

Will didn’t respond, instead sipping his whiskey. He was standing by the table but hadn’t seated himself. “Should we move to the sitting room? Or do you prefer it here?” 

Abigail laughed and Hannibal noticed her cheeks were quite flushed. “Sit down and relax, Will,” she said. “Stop being so formal.” 

Will smiled at her indulgently and sat down. “What’s for dinner?” he asked. 

“Pork belly cooked in milk with potatoes,” Abigail answered, waving her hand with a flourish and laughing. As Hannibal smiled at her he felt Will’s gaze on him. He turned to meet the medium’s eyes and immediately felt locked in the moment, as though he were tethered to Will by the intensity in his eyes alone. Abigail broke the spell by pulling the pork belly out of the oven.

Dinner was a casual - more so because they remained in the kitchen rather than moving to the dining room, and far more so than it would have been had Hannibal been hosting - but it was fitting of the mood and the company. Abigail served them the roast pork belly, not bothering with presentation but with a small flourish of her wrist nonetheless. 

Hannibal watched as Will smiled happily at his ward. He moved to fill Will’s empty tumbler with wine as she spoke excitedly about the ride to the butcher’s shop and suggested to Will again that they look into purchasing a vehicle. He shook his head with amusement. It was clear they’d had the conversation several times before, but Abigail was persistent and Will finally agreed to consider it. 

Midway through the meal they opened the second bottle of wine and finished it as well. 

They baked apples with raisins and cinnamon sticks as a dessert, enjoying whiskey while they were waiting. Abigail had considerably less in her tumbler and made a face with each sip, to Will’s clear amusement. After finishing dessert, she excused herself to her room. Will emptied the end of Abigail’s whiskey into his glass and refilled Hannibal’s. 

“Not that this hasn’t been enjoyable, Count, but I wasn’t expecting you,” Will said. 

“I anticipated you would be more upset,” Hannibal said.

Will shrugged. “I should be. Your afternoon with Abigail will probably end up in the society pages. Her life is complicated enough with me as her guardian.” 

“You’re very protective of her,” Hannibal said. 

“Yes,” Will said thoughtfully. “Though I worry too much. Abigail can look after herself. Her father taught her to hunt. She’s good with a knife.” 

It was an odd statement but before Hannibal could mull it over, Will rolled his shoulders and asked if they should move to the sitting room. “It’s more comfortable,” he explained. 

“So what did bring you here, Count?” he asked, settling into his usual chair.

“Someone I am well acquainted with asked me to meet her at Dru Hill for an afternoon out,” he said, wondering how exactly to describe Bedelia. 

“Ah,” Will made a sound of acknowledgement. “It’s always pleasant to spend an afternoon in the company of a good friend.”

“An old acquaintance,” Hannibal corrected. “Our relationship is difficult to explain. I have known her for many years and I enjoy her company, but I do not consider her a friend. And, were you to ask her, I am certain she would say the same about me.”

“Pleasant company regardless,” Will said, sipping his whiskey. Hannibal took in the hard set of his jaw and his grip on the glass. 

“I find present company much more pleasant,” he said and was gratified to see much of the tension leave Will’s body. 

“May I asked what called you away today?” Hannibal crossed his legs and reclined into the couch, finding it quite comfortable. 

Will scowled into his whiskey. “It’s a much less pleasant topic than discussing your afternoon, I’m sure. How many of the secrets you’re trying to draw out of me did Abigail disclose?” 

Hannibal chuckled. “Not many. You used to have a number of dogs that you hunted with but you gave them up when you moved. You may or may not miss some of the food common in Louisana. She also implied that you’re somewhat solitary and tend not to have many close friends, but she indicated I may be one of them. Which I admit I find quite flattering, if it’s true.”

Will said nothing, but his scowl had turned into a smile. 

“I only hunted with one of the dogs,” he offered, eventually. “The others weren’t good hunting dogs. Though I’m more of a fisherman, anyway.”

“She wondered why you haven’t replaced them.”

“Perhaps I’m waiting for a stray to appear in my front yard.” Will stared into his whiskey. When he spoke again, his voice was soft. “I sometimes miss crawfish. And yes, I consider you a friend.” 

“And I you,” Hannibal said. Will responded with an uncharacteristically shy but particularly lovely smile. “But as a friend, I am curious to know how you spent your day.” 

Will laughed. “Persistent as always, Count. I occasionally consult for the Baltimore police department.”

“That must be interesting,” Hannibal said carefully. “You mentioned you were on the force in Louisiana. Did you also work as a police offer here?” 

Will shook his head. “No. I would prefer not to be involved at all, but I owe the police chief something of a debt.”

“And to fulfill this debt he employs you as a medium?” Hannibal asked. 

“The dead speak in a variety of ways.” He sighed and stifled a yawn, spurring Hannibal to look at the clock. It was well past midnight. He’d request his driver return for him an hour earlier.

“I apologize,” Hannibal said. “I showed up uninvited and it appears I have overstayed my welcome.” 

Will shook his head. “You may not have been expected, but you are welcome.” He yawned again. “Though I am quite tired. Let me see you out.”

He walked Hannibal to the door and leaned tiredly against the doorframe. Hannibal turned to face him. He inhaled deeply. Will smelled of the whiskey they’d been drinking, but also pine, citrus, and, very faintly, copper. 

“Thank you for a pleasant evening, Will,” Hannibal said.

“Thank you for cooking, Hannibal,” Will responded. “I’ll see you in a few days.”

Hannibal nodded and made his way to the motorcar, amused but not surprised - nor upset - to find his driver asleep in the front seat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to have this chapter up yesterday, but I kept picking at it. Mostly because I have been overly busy and didn't have time to focus on finishing it in the past few days so instead I got very nit-picky with what I did have. 
> 
> A couple actual notes: I originally said early 1900s but shifted the timeframe up to more like 1918/1919 in chapter 3 (which could still maybe be considered early 1900s?). 
> 
> So:  
> -I reference the abstinence movement briefly, which was in full force at the time. Prohibition was passed in 1920, but prior to that there was no real drinking age. Some states had one, and honestly I'm not sure about Maryland, but even if it existed it most states didn't enforce it at all. So there's no underage drinking going on. But clearly these characters are not teetotalers, because what is Hannibal without wine? ;) (Seriously sometimes the show makes me want to drink, is that terrible?)  
> -Commercial refrigeration was actually in wide use at this time but home refrigeration still wasn't common. Home electric refrigerators were available but were a huge extravagance.  
> -About 1/3 of homes had phones around this time. Hannibal having an electric refirigerator but no phone seemed very Hannibal, though, since he is so old school about some things in the show (but obviously food is very important to him.)
> 
> Oh, also - Dru Hill = Druid Hill Park, referred to by locals as Dru Hill. I'm not sure when that became common practice but the park has existed since the late 1800s so I'm taking liberties and assuming that was a practice during this time period


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal is his shady self, another seance, things progress slowly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, a new chapter! I had to claw this kicking and screaming from my brain; I think I rewrote it like 10 times.

Baltimore after midnight was cold, dark and quiet. Hannibal appreciated the solitude of it. Not only was that preferable for achieving his present objective, but there was power in being alone in the world: the city ripe for the taking. 

Tonight, however, Hannibal was not alone. He was all but carrying the drunken man who had stumbled into the street after being cast out of the establishment he frequented. It was the man’s habit to spend his evenings indulging in copious drink. The same actions, repeated by the same players with only minor variation, was a near nightly occurrence and the outcome was easily predictable.

Hannibal followed him a short distance after he stumbled out of the bar before seeing him collapse in the entrance to an alleyway. There Hannibal hauled him upright, murmuring “let’s get you home” quietly when the man made a noise of protest. Hannibal had a syringe of laudanum available should he need it, but he did not believe he would. 

They made their way further down the largely empty streets, for all intents and purposes appearing as one man helping a friend who had overindulged. The drunken man was the picture of the excess the temperance movement sought to curb. There would be few, if any, respected members of society roaming the streets at this hour, but anyone who did happen to be out and saw two men stumbling down he street, inebriated, would inevitably turn their eyes away from the pair in disdain. 

At last they reached the motorcar, left some distance from the bar, and Hannibal was able to load him into the back. The small red and grey brick row houses on the side streets turned into grand brick mansions lining the thoroughfares as they made their way out of the city. 

The man lying drunk and prone in Hannibal’s backseat was a surgeon by profession; a career that for many years had valued speed, strength and precision. The faster a cut could be made, the more quickly a gangrenous limb or a cancerous growth severed from the body, the less likely suppuration and therefore death. 

As a young man Hannibal had been fascinated with the odd brutality of the profession, particularly given the fervent discussion around antiseptic practices and the publications of Joseph Lister. He’d watched with interest as Lister’s beliefs were adopted more widely by an array of surgeons. Though the younger generation was more eager to accept the doctrine, several surgeons who had been respected in the field for some time were also swayed. Hannibal decided to learn the art for himself as it became clear surgeons were beginning to wield true power over life and death. 

The profession had quickly come to value calm and a steady hand over the brute strength of those who came before. But despite the transformation of surgery to an eloquent art, Dr. Gideon was still a butcher. Rather than reticence to accept relatively new beliefs and practices - though they had been widely adopted in the US some twenty years earlier - it appeared to be a general lack of care. He thought little of the people who graced his table and took no pride in his ability to repair them. Similarly, the cleaning of his tools was perfunctory at best, leading to a high rate of infection among his patients. And yet, because his name was well-known and because people are so often frightened of change, many still sought him out believing they would find adequate care under his knife. 

Though Hannibal held no particular sympathy toward the doctor’s former patients, it was shameful not to take pride in one’s work. 

Dr. Gideon had taken to drinking after his wife’s passing - a passing which had occurred in rather suspicious circumstances, Hannibal discovered, leaving Dr. Gideon with few friends or even friendly colleagues; though his professional reputation had failed to take a hit. 

Hannibal’s research into the man’s character only began after, several months earlier, he’d exited the same bar, assaulted Hannibal’s driver - rather ineffectively, but that was not the point - and vomited on the sidewalk. When Hannibal had offered assistance the man rudely shoved him, causing him to step in the mess. 

Despite this occurrence, the surgeon decided that his profession and reputation meant not only that he need offer no apologies for his poor behavior, but he in fact accused Hannibal and his driver of being in the way and began belligerently demanding apologies from them. Such a rude tongue could certainly be put to better use. 

Eventually they neared a small property on the outskirts of town. Hannibal kept this property as a retreat, where he could hunt in peace. His staff were aware that he owned at least one other property, which they referred to as his hunting cabin, but he spent his time in these locations alone and they did not know the exact locations. One could not be too careful when seeking solitude.

Hannibal hauled the drunk from his backseat and into the property, where he left him in the bathroom. The alcohol had almost certainly affected his liver and kidneys, perhaps even his tongue. He would need several days to detox before the extent of the damage to his organs could be assessed. Ensuring everything was locked and Dr. Gideon was satisfactorily contained, Hannibal left. He would revisit the property soon to check on the man’s state. 

When he neared his home he cut the engine to the motorcar and pushed it the remaining distance, being careful to position it in the carriage house so that there would be no suspicion it had moved. His staff slept soundly and were unlikely to wake, which allowed for his freedom of movement without undue concern.

Nonetheless, Hannibal was cautious to minimize his risk. It was beneficial to have staff that could attest that he’d retired early and been home all night. Those staff hearing “noises” in the night would not do. He had hired them for their discretion, but he did not wish to test the limits of their loyalty. 

Back in his room Hannibal undressed slowly, considering how much time would be enough to allow the alcohol to pass from the man’s system. Two to three days ought to suffice and the timing would be good for what he had planned. 

Never one to experience trouble sleeping or waking, Hannibal climbed into bed and immediately drifted into pleasant dreams. 

*

“I understand you throw fabulous dinner parties, Count Lecter,” Mrs. Komeda’s eyes sparkled. Her hand, much to Hannibal’s chagrin, was once again resting on his forearm. He sighed inwardly. She had not been in attendance the past two weeks and prior to that he had managed to seat himself strategically so that there was another body between them. Unfortunately that strategy had failed him today. 

The easiest way to avoid her overeager friendliness would have been to cease attending the séances. But despite the blossoming friendship he shared with the medium, Hannibal found he still enjoyed attending. There was an excitement in seeing Will work. His ability to see and understand why his guests were there was utterly fascinating - and Hannibal was certain it would continue to be fascinating no matter how many times he witnessed it. 

Will’s eyes flicked to Mrs. Komeda’s hand as he entered the room. Hannibal saw the barest twitch at the corner of his lips; a smile there and then gone so quickly it was hardly noticeable. 

“It’s been some time since I’ve been inspired to have one,” Hannibal responded to his neighbor.

“Perhaps it’s time, Count,” she said. “You’ve become friendly with our medium. Maybe you could convince him to hold a special séance during the event?” 

“If I threw a dinner party,” Hannibal said cooly, “and Mr. Graham agreed to attend, it would be as my guest - not for his services.”

To her credit Mrs. Komeda looked contrite, but before she could respond Will announced he was dimming the lights and moved to take his seat. He started as usual, asking that everyone clasp hands and close their eyes, and then instructed them to keep their eyes closed regardless of what they heard or felt. 

Also as usual, Hannibal kept his eyes open for longer than the other participants, watching Will. It had been several days since he had last seen the medium and he looked tired. The candlelight hollowed his eyes further, giving him a slightly haunted look. He smiled at Hannibal nonetheless, then closed his own eyes and began to breathe deeply. 

Suddenly he inhaled sharply and jolted up in his chair, turning to peer over his right shoulder into the corner of the room and shaking his head abruptly. 

That was new. 

He turned back to the table and caught Hannibal looking at him, their eyes meeting briefly before Will closed his again. He resumed the deep breathing and Hannibal watched his chest rise and fall. He was normally relaxed during the performance, but tonight there was an odd tension to him. 

Will exhaled quickly and opened his eyes, but they appeared unfocused. He took on the same faraway look he’d had after the first séance Hannibal had attended, when he relayed the message from Mischa. He tilted his head slightly and pursed his lips. Listening. 

Beside him, Mrs. Komeda gripped his hand tighter, as though she sensed the tension in the air. The room seemed to cool incrementally. 

When Will spoke his voice was lower and rougher than normal. “Ellabelle,” he said. Mrs. Komeda gasped and Hannibal longed to extract his hand from her ever-tightening grip. “Satisfaction lies in the effort itself, not in the recognition of the effort.” 

Hannibal looked at Mrs. Komeda. She was crying, her lips moving steadily though Hannibal couldn’t make out any of the words. 

Will’s eyes moved to Hannibal, but he didn’t appear to be seeing what was in front of him. Hannibal watched intently as the medium slowly came back to himself. Tension leeched from the air and Will gave Hannibal a soft smile followed by an incremental shake of his head. 

He addressed a few of the other participants, comforting a woman who had recently lost her husband and reassuring a young woman that she and her fiancé were a good match. Then he took several quick breathes and coughed lightly. 

“That is all for this evening,” Will said, “you may open your eyes.” 

As the guests began to rise, Abigail appeared in the doorway as usual to usher them out. She smiled at Hannibal but the look she gave Will was a worried one.

“You looked exhausted, Will,” Hannibal said once everyone had left. “Are you well?” 

“Long day,” Will said dismissively. “And I didn’t sleep well last night.”

“I won’t stay then, but permit me to make you some tea before I go?” Hannibal’s thoughts drifted to the envelope in his his pocket. 

He’d reserved a box to the upcoming concert after Abigail had mentioned the pianist in passing. He could leave it with the tea and await their response. Though their company would be pleasant, and the box was certainly large enough, it would be no great loss if they chose not to attend. He would enjoy the concert regardless.

Will’s smile was both grateful and amused. “A count making tea to serve to a medium. And in the medium’s home, no less. What would the society pages make of that?” 

“Would you share that information with them?” Hannibal asked, echoing Will’s amusement. 

“I would share nothing,” Will said roughly, “I would keep your kindness for myself.” 

There was a brief flicker in medium’s eyes, something Hannibal didn’t quite catch, accompanied by a quick change in the air. When Will spoke again, his voice was lighter. 

“You do seem comfortable in my kitchen, Count. But I believe tonight is a night for whiskey.” He retrieved two tumblers and a bottle from a side cabinet, pouring two fingers in each glass. “And I appreciate your company.”

He passed Hannibal a glass and seated himself. “Mrs. Komeda is quite friendly with you.” 

“She wants me to throw a dinner party,” Hannibal said. 

“No doubt she wants an invite as well.” His smile was the same impish one he would sometimes give Hannibal in the middle of a séance; the same one Hannibal had drawn numerous times. 

“She wanted me to ask you for a special performance during the event,” he said, feeling a surge of annoyance.

Will hummed but said nothing.

“It was presumptuous of her,” Hannibal said. He was surprised by the intensity of his irritation with the request.

Will smiled. “It’s kind of you to be upset on my behalf, but it’s not an unusual request.” He tilted his head in that familiar manner, looking at Hannibal thoughtfully. 

“Don’t do anything rash, Count,” he said wryly, “If something happened to her it would be notable, and I’d rather you not be arrested for defending my honor.”

Hannibal was quiet. He made no attempt to hide his shock, but behind it he watched Will carefully, analyzing the expression on his face and the tension in his form. He was still much tenser than usual, but Hannibal was certain the statement had been in jest.

“I apologize,” Will said, grimacing and looking away. “A joke in poor taste. Abigail doesn’t like it when I consult. It puts me in an uneasy state of mind.” 

He sighed and turned back to Hannibal, his look once again thoughtful. “Although for a moment there it did seem as though you wanted to hunt her down and punish her."

“Tempting,” Hannibal said lightly. He was thrilled. The medium seemed somehow sharper; harsh edges that he’d carefully hidden appearing through his exhaustion. 

“She’s a suffragette, you know,” Will said. Hannibal hadn’t known and wasn’t entirely certain how that fact was related.

Will’s eyes took on a faraway look, though not in quite the same way as during the séance. “She craves recognition. She writes, but uses the pseudonym ‘Elliot” because it was easier to be published as a man. It’s part of why she joined the suffrage movement. She never felt children were necessary but she feels the judgement of being in a childless marriage. Her husband indulges her but doesn’t excite her.”

Hannibal raised his eyebrows. Will shrugged. “She seeks out communities where her social standing allows her to stand out. The suffrage movement is one. Spiritualism is another.”

Will smiled. “This is what I do, Count. You’ve been wondering how I do this since we met, but it’s not a trick.” He pause and amended, “Well, most of it’s not a trick, anyway. You found the one I do use.” 

The medium narrowed his eyes. “You’re elated that I’m sharing one of my secrets with you, but you can’t help but be suspicious. Do you believe I designed the evening’s performance so that Mrs. Komeda would hear what she needed and not return?”

Hannibal said nothing, merely watching Will. It felt undeniably odd to be participating in a conversation where he did not need to speak. He had, of course, considered the possibility that the message was staged. It wasn’t as specific as the messages from Mischa, though it must have meant something to Mrs. Komeda based on her reaction. 

“My gift for reading people has never been a secret. Though I am often regarded as a curiosity because of it, regardless of my profession.” Will said. “And if you need proof that nothing tonight was orchestrated with any specific intent, you need only come again next week. I assure you Mrs. Komeda will be in attendance regularly now that she’s returned from her travels.”

He had become more tense as he spoke, his knuckles whitening around his glass. His eyes flashed, that same steely glint Hannibal still caught flashes of occasionally when it came to Abigail. Will was radiant in anger; the dark form Hannibal had sensed in him peaking through his eyes, attempting to claw its way out. 

“I get the impression you would not mind being wrong about that,” Hannibal said. 

Will exhaled abruptly, the anger seeping out of him, though the hard edges remained. He shook his head. “She may be overly friendly with you, but she means no ill-will and is a good customer.”

“She thinks you’re quite attractive,” Hannibal said, leaning forward. “If she is unhappy in her marriage, perhaps she comes for the indulgence of a handsome face.“

Will flushed and stared into his whiskey. “She’s not unhappy, exactly,” he said. “She genuinely loves her husband. He’s steadfast. Reliable, predictable -“

“Boring?” Hannibal broke in. 

Will grinned, though he was still focused on his glass. “Boring,” he agreed.

“You got that from seeing Mrs. Komeda at your séances?” 

Will snorted. “I got that from meeting her husband.” 

Hannibal laughed then and Will finally looked up from his drink, a pleased expression on his face. 

“Who was her message from?” Hannibal asked. 

“Her father, I believe. I don’t always know. A male.” He shrugged. 

“And before that?” Hannibal asked gently. 

Will’s eyes flashed again. “Before?” he asked, his tone harsh. 

“You turned to the corner. As though something startled you.” Hannibal could see the debate behind his eyes. Once again Will exhaled, slowly, his body relaxing as he did.

“I thought I heard someone,” Will said. “But it was impossible to make anything out. He was - muffled. It was a man, I’m sure, but it was as though he had something stuffed in his mouth. Or perhaps someone ripped out his tongue.” 

“Or cut it out,” Hannibal suggested. He watched Will’s reaction intently, but the medium seemed at ease. The whiskey had softened him; the harshness Hannibal had seen receding back into the dark corners of Will’s mind. He wondered what he could do to draw it back out.

“Someone angry with his lies, perhaps,” Will said, thoughtfully, “or someone who felt he did not use it well.” 

“An interesting thought. Do you believe he had anything to do with the guests at the table?” Hannibal asked. 

Will shook his head. “If he did, he wasn’t attempting to direct a message to any of them.” He stared into the distance as Hannibal watched him and they fell into an easy quiet. 

“You’re more comfortable with this line of conversation than I might have thought,” Will said, after a time. 

“Some of my previous experiences might surprise you,” Hannibal offered.

He could see Will wanted to probe him for more information. “There has often been fighting between the powers that partitioned and held portions of my homeland. Some of which I was unfortunate enough to witness. Discussing the theoretical loss of a tongue pales in comparison.”

Changing the subject, he asked, “Are you able to see all the guests at your séances the way you see Mrs. Komeda?”

“Including you, you mean?” Will asked. “What do I see when I see you?” 

It was an odd, almost echo of Mischa’s words and Hannibal wondered if that had been intentional. 

“Yes,” he answered quietly. He wanted to know the answer more than he’d realized.

Will reached across the table and touched Hannibal lightly on the forearm, causing all of Hannibal’s focus to be drawn to the barely there pressure and warmth of the medium’s fingertips. It was not lost on him that Will was touching the same forearm in roughly the same spot that Mrs. Komeda had, but the feeling of it was entirely different. 

Hannibal took a small sip of whiskey, soothing his suddenly dry throat. 

“I told you when we first had dinner, Hannibal,” he said softly. “You’re hard to read, and that makes you refreshing.” 

Will closed his eyes and breathed deeply. His hand traveled from Hannibal’s forearm to his hand, where it hovered briefly and then settled; a presence that was gentle and comforting. Before he could stop himself Hannibal shifted his hand up and wound their fingers together. 

He looked at their joined hands. A quick twist and he could break Will’s wrist. He could grip tighter and pull the other man toward him, until he was close enough to grab his neck and squeeze. He could press back, pushing Will out of his chair and pressing the medium to the floor as he straddled him, pinning his hands over his head. 

_And then?_ Hannibal wondered. He wasn’t entirely certain. 

Will hadn’t reacted; nether acknowledging their linked hands nor pulling away. Instead, he opened his eyes again and spoke softly. 

“You’re precise in your actions,” he said. “You devote considerable time to scholarly pursuits as much for the purpose of impressing high society as because you actively enjoy them. You care little for elitism despite the fact that you court the elite. You’ve shared some of your family’s history but you guard a deeper hurt. There’s something dark in you that you keep carefully controlled.” Will looked at him, blue eyes bright. “The difficulty others have reading you is by design, and you’re surprised every time I get something right.” 

Hannibal said nothing. Even in that brief assessment he felt surprisingly bared. 

Smiling, Will pulled his hand away from Hannibal’s to run it through his hair, scratching at the back of his scalp and mussing the curls more than usual. He looked as though he’d just woken from a strange dream, wild and untamed. 

“None of what I said is a revelation,” Will said. “I think you’re perfectly aware of how others see you.”

“And how do you see yourself, Will?” Hannibal asked. 

Will’s smile became lopsided. “It depends on the angle,” he said. He stood, picking up the bottle and his glass. “If you’re amenable to one more, perhaps we can ask Abigail to join us in the sitting room?”

“As enjoyable as that would be, I should be going,” Hannibal said. He’d checked in on Dr. Gideon in the early morning hours and still had a few preparations to complete. 

Will put his hands in his pockets and shrugged. “Of course,” he said. “Don’t let me keep you.” His tone was light but it was clear that he was disappointed. Hannibal was about to reconsider and say he would stay. But before he could, Will offered to see him out. 

They walked past the sitting room on the way to the front door and Hannibal heard Abigail humming. The tune was familiar in an unfamiliar way, something haunting and near forgotten. 

“Will we see you Friday?” Will asked. 

“Friday there is a concert,” Hannibal said, hand moving to the envelope he’d brought. 

“I see,” Will responded, his voice carefully neutral as he reached for the door. “Another time then.” 

“I intended to give you this earlier in the evening,” Hannibal said, touching Will’s wrist to still the medium’s hand and pulling the envelope from his pocket. “I was wondering if you and Abigail would be my guests. Rachmaninoff will be performing, and the box I have is easily large enough for the three of us.” 

“Yes,” Abigail called from the door of the sitting room. “Don’t let Will say no because he dislikes large social groups.”

“Is this a formal invitation, Count?” Will asked, taking the envelope. “You could just ask.” 

Hannibal’s fingers were still on the medium’s wrist, and he ran his fingers across the delicate bones before gripping it lightly and rubbing a circle over the tendons beneath. He watched intently, noting the slightest catch in Will’s breath, the barest hint of color in his cheeks, the way his lower lip curled into his mouth as he raked his teeth across it. He really was quite lovely. 

Hannibal pulled his fingers away from the sudden heat of Will’s skin. 

Tapping the the envelope, he said, “this will allow you entry to my box, should you choose to meet me there. Though I would be happy to collect you.” 

“By all means collect us,” Abigail said. Glancing over, Hannibal wondered how long she had been standing in the hallway and how he had missed hearing her arrival. “Otherwise Will might make us walk.” 

Will shot her an exasperated look before turning back to Hannibal. “Abigail’s right, I’m not good in large social settings.” 

Abigail snatched the envelope out of Will’s hand. “And I said that wasn’t an excuse, Will.” 

Turning to Hannibal she said, “We’re coming.” Her tone left no option for discussion and, as if to emphasize her point, she marched away in the direction of the sitting room.

Will smiled after her. Without turning he said softly, “Aren’t you worried about what people will say, Hannibal? Keeping such close company with a spiritualist? Dinners are one thing, but this is something else.” 

When he did finally turn to Hannibal his eyes were soft with worry; a vibrant inviting blue.

“I’ve always been a bit eccentric,” Hannibal said. “It’s one more oddity to report on. I am not overly concerned.” 

“Very well then,” Will said. “I suppose we will see you Friday.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Joseph Lister, who I mention briefly, is considered the father of modern surgery. He basically dragged it kicking and screaming out of the stone ages. Before Lister fear of hospitals was perfectly rational - only people who couldn't afford at home medical treatment and were desparate went to hospitals because you would most likely leave in a coffin. Morbid but true. Lister began speaking and promoting his beliefs in the 1860s/1870s, although the US surgeons were late adopters and didn't begin implementing his suggestions until the late 1890s. There's an excellent book called The Butchering Art about him. 
> 
> I actually tried to figure out when Rachmaninoff was in Baltimore around this timeframe but it proved difficult to find actual dates of his concerts. However, he was a prolific performer and was definitely in the US at this point, so it's reasonable to assume he would have played there. 
> 
> I debated making the beginning more obvious and graphic - I initially wrote it that way, in fact. Not that there's a ton of ambiguity in what's going on, because it's Hannibal, but if you didn't know the character . . . maybe? I'm still having a bit of an internal debate.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A chance encounter gives Hannibal a glimpse into Will's consulting work.

Hannibal woke from pleasant dreams he couldn’t quite recall, except to know it was a variety of dream he hadn’t experienced in some time. He spent a few moments breathing deeply, examining the ache low in his belly and closing his eyes in an attempt to piece together the fragments he could call to mind. When the pressure between his thighs became too great, he relieved it. 

Standing in front of his window watching the early morning light, he thought that maybe he should plan the dinner party Mrs. Komeda had requested after all, if only to give himself another focus for his time. A focus that wasn’t Will Graham. 

He’d begun to mark his time by the days he would see Will, and no matter what appointments he had or what other pursuits he indulged in his thoughts always returned to the medium. It was Thursday morning, and Friday evening seemed an interminable distance away.

It was decidedly unhelpful that Thursdays were an unusually quiet day. Hannibal had two appointments in the early afternoon, but his morning free. He momentarily regretted being as selective as he was with his clientele; even a more boring appointment would have at least provided a distraction. Considering his options, he decided fresh air would do him good and asked his driver to take him to Dru Hill. 

Maybe he would walk through the zoo; he understood they had acquired a new tiger. He had always enjoyed the big cats. They were incredible predators, spending their time lounging with a deceptive laziness until the moment they spotted and chased their prey. 

He briefly considering inviting Will and Abigail, and even more briefly Bedelia, but getting an invitation to either of them would take time. Perhaps he should reconsider the telephone. Will had one and Bedelia had recently had one installed. She’d been encouraging him to embrace the new era of communication, but Hannibal was still reticent. His Aunt taught him the basics of shūji many years earlier, and he was enthralled with the beauty of the printed word; be it the artistic strokes of the Japanese kana or the roman alphabet romanticized through elegant penmanship. A written invitation required thought and time in a way spoken word did not. 

Nevertheless, on his way out he instructed his staff to look into having a telephone installed. Having one didn’t necessarily mean using one, after all. 

The recent, albeit unseasonable, warmth had disappeared virtually overnight and the chill in the air carried the smell of coming winter. The smell of cold was a unique thing; crisp, clean, the sharp edge of steel on a knife as it presses against flesh, preparing to slice. 

Hannibal hated the cold, and yet there were times when he sought it. He doubted anyone would fully understand why he would subject himself to something he so intensely disliked. It was a reminder of what he was no longer forced to endure. 

He was walking toward the zoo when he thought he saw a familiar head of brown curls. He hesitated to believe it was Will, but as he continued walking it become clear that it was, in fact, the medium and Hannibal had not imagined it. 

Will was walking with a stout African American gentleman. His companion carried himself with a strength and authority indicating he was not often questioned and, when he was, did not tolerate it well. He appeared quite frustrated with Will, gesturing wildly as the medium shrunk into himself, radiating displeasure. Will was wearing a pair of glasses Hannibal had never seen before and he seemed different. Fidgety. 

“Mr. Graham,” Hannibal said as he neared the pair. They paused. Will’s companion made an irritated noise at the interruption, but Will’s smile held no small measure of relief. 

“Count Lecter,” he said. He gestured to his companion. “This is Jack Crawford, the police chief.”

Hannibal clipped his heels together and bowed, catching Will’s amused expression from the corner of his eye. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Crawford,” he said.

“You as well,” Jack said, shortly. He looked back to Will. “We can discuss this more on the ride home.” 

Will shook his head. “There’s nothing to discuss, Jack. It’s not the same person.” Will shoved his hands in his pockets and exhaled, turning away. “I’ll take a cab.” 

Jack scowled and narrowed his eyes at Hannibal, who had made no move to leave. “Fine,” he said, eventually, and then, to Hannibal, “Pleasure to meet you Count Lecter.” 

“Likewise,” Hannibal said, politely shaking his hand. Though Jack clearly held authority for a reason, Hannibal was not overly impressed with the man. Will had not moved from Hannibal’s side as Jack turned to leave. The medium’s posture was stiff, his jaw tight and eyes hard. His body relaxed as Jack walked away but his eyes were still cold as he turned to look at Hannibal. 

There were bags under his eyes and Hannibal longed to reach out and trace them, as if by running his fingers across them he could wipe them away. 

Will exhaled slowly. “Out for a walk, Count?”

“I was headed to the zoo,” Hannibal said.

Will’s eyes widened and he coughed. “You’re lucky you didn’t make it there,” he said. “That’s where we were coming from.”

“What happened?” Hannibal asked. 

Removing his glasses and placing them in a pocket, Will rubbed the back of his neck. “You don’t want to know.” He showed his teeth briefly, something resembling a snarl. Hannibal wondered if he was aware he’d done it. 

“As a matter of fact, I would like to know,” Hannibal said, tapping the medium’s forearm with his fingers. Will’s eyes flicked quickly from his forearm to Hannibal’s face in surprise. His cheeks had been pinched rosy by the cold, giving him an even more youthful appearance, and his tongue peeked out to lick his chapped lips. Hannibal wondered how it would feel to moisten those lips with his own. 

He stilled at the thought, parts of previous night’s dream returning to him as a pleasant heat moved down his chest into his stomach, finally nestling at the base of his spine. 

Will was looking at him with an expression he couldn’t quite place, but the thoughtful tilt of the medium’s head was a familiar comfort. “You really do want to know, don’t you?” he said softly, more to himself than to Hannibal. 

Hannibal cleared his throat. “You look exhausted, Will. I would like to know what’s causing a friend to lose sleep.”

“My brain is what causes me to leave sleep, Count,” Will said. His eyes moved around them, slowly. There were only a few people walking in the park; likely a combination of it being a Thursday morning and the drop in temperature. 

“A man fell in the tiger’s pen,” he said, sighing. “Jack thinks he was pushed.”  
“You don’t?” Hannibal asked. 

“He wasn’t,” Will said confidently.

“You told Mr. Crawford it wasn’t the same person,” Hannibal probed. 

Will shook his head. “It’s the second day this week he’s come to collect me.” 

“And what was the first day?” Hannibal asked. 

Instead of answering Will turned and started walking, not bothering to wait. Hannibal caught up to him quickly and matched his pace. They were headed toward the zoo, Hannibal noted. 

“I shouldn’t tell you any of this,” Will said, not looking at Hannibal. “The police found a body on the outskirts of town. He was placed in the middle of a field, missing his hands, and there were implements - tools - placed in various parts of his body.” 

“I imagine that was disturbing,” Hannibal said. 

“It was art,” Will said, almost dreamily. “There was an elegance there. Everything clean and precise.”

“It sounds more like the body was mutilated,” Hannibal said, smiling to himself. 

“It’s hard not to admire the execution,” Will said. He shook his head and apologized. “I know I shouldn’t sound like I’m idealizing a killer.”

“Why do you think his hands were gone?” Hannibal asked. 

“Misdirection,” Will said, almost immediately, and Hannibal was briefly grateful the medium was focused on the path and not on him; he was certain the surprise showed on his face. 

“Oh?” was all he said. 

Will laughed, but it was a brittle sound. “The dead speak in a variety of ways, Count. Although I do wonder if this one spoke to me recently.”

He paused his stride and looked at Hannibal. “He was missing his tongue,” he said flatly. 

“I can see why you might be concerned, though it could easily be a coincidence.“ 

“It wasn’t,” Will said in the same flat tone. “He was missing other organs, too. Lungs, heart, kidneys. But not the liver.” 

“Why is that, do you think?” Hannibal asked. 

Will shook his head. “I’m not certain. But the missing organs are the reason Jack came to collect me. At first they thought it was just the hands, but when they discovered it fit the pattern Jack came calling.” Will rubbed his face vigorously, increasing the redness in his cheeks. 

They resumed walking. Will tucked his hands in his pockets and hunched his shoulders, curling in on himself. It might have been from the cold, but Hannibal was reasonably certain it wasn’t. There was an officer standing at the entrance to the zoo, but Will merely nodded to him and they walked by, passing the distinctive lion statues on their way through the Main Valley to the tiger cage. 

Hannibal approached the iron bars and looked inside. A man lay prone in the cage, his chest ripped open. His face had been distorted by the claws and teeth of the tigers, but there was something familiar about him. 

“Do you recognize him, Count?” Will asked. His eyes were hard when he looked at Hannibal and there was a challenge in his voice. There was a test here, Hannibal realized, and he was frustrated that he wasn’t entirely certain what the measure was - and, therefore, whether or not he would measure up. 

He gazed calmly and steadily at what used to be a man, feeling Will’s intense scrutiny on him but not turning into the medium’s gaze. It was clear that the man in the cage had fallen and been mauled. That Jack had thought otherwise made Hannibal question him all the more. The scene in front of him lacked any staging or elegance. There was no message here - other than the obvious cautionary tale. 

“He looks familiar,” Hannibal said finally, “but it’s difficult to say in his present condition.”

“He was part of Baltimore’s elite,” Will said, pressing his forehead against one of the bars and staring down at the body. “You likely encountered him at one of your social events.” 

“Possibly,” Hannibal conceded. 

“I expected you to balk at this,” Will said, turning to Hannibal. 

“Certainly it’s more graphic than the theoretical discussion we were having about missing tongues,” Hannibal said. He didn’t immediately face Will, instead allowing the medium to continue scrutinizing his profile. “But I have seen worse.”

“What did you see?” Will’s voice had turned soft and he placed his fingertips on Hannibal’s forearm quickly before pulling them away. 

“A loss of innocence,” Hannibal said. He turned to face Will. “You still have your secrets, Will, and I have mine. Perhaps some day we’ll trade.” 

“ _Quid pro quo,_ ” Will whispered. Hannibal had begun to recognize when the medium drifted into his thoughts, and it was clear he had done so now. Content merely to watch, Hannibal considered the mess of dark curls and their untamed beauty, dark eyelashes, the line of Will’s nose, the determined set of his jaw, the ever-present shadow of a beard, and the fine, pale line of his neck. The tension in his body had loosened, his shoulders back and relaxed, his arms slack, hands still in his pockets. His body was lean, but there was an underlying strength. Will licked his chapped lips once more, the tip of his pink tongue running over the top lip and then the bottom. His throat bobbed as he swallowed. 

He should be wearing a hat and scarf in this weather. Feeling suddenly too warm, Hannibal wondered if he should offer Will his own. He was on the verge of removing his scarf to wrap it around the medium’s neck when Will roused himself from his thoughts, shaking his head so that his hair fell over his eyes before he brushed it back from his face. 

“We shouldn’t be here,” he said. “Jack will have my head.” 

“Why did Mr. Crawford believe this was related to the other body found?” Hannibal asked, as they turned to leave. 

Will seemed thoughtful. “Truthfully, I don’t believe he did. Jack’s smarter than that.” The medium fell quiet. “I think he collected me because of who it is, hoping he would speak to me and tell me who did this.” 

“Pity he did it to himself, then,” Hannibal said. 

“You thought so too,” Will said. The corners of his lips twitched, not quite a smile. “Perhaps the dead speak to you as well, Hannibal.”

“He must have climbed the bars,” Hannibal said, “there’s no way he fell through.”

“A prank, a dare, or simply a drunkard wanting a closer look,” Will agreed, “But certainly a climber, regardless. There was no elegance here, only foolishness. There’s no comparison.”

“What of this other body, then?” Hannibal asked. It was, perhaps, a dangerous line of discussion but Hannibal found he wanted to know Will’s thoughts. 

“There have been others,” Will said. “But not for some time. Always with organs missing.”  
“Are they being taken for the medical colleges, do you think?” 

Will considered that. “It’s an interesting thought,” he conceded. “Though usually deliveries to medical colleges are the result of grave-robbing.”

“Perhaps some items are better fresh,” Hannibal said. Will stifled a laugh, the corners of his lips turning up again before he suppressed the smile. A vaguely guilty expression flitted like a shadow across his face, more the impression of guilt than the emotion itself.

“There are always at least three bodies displayed,” Will said. “Then it’s quiet for months, or even years. The first murders occurred before I moved here.” 

“How did you get involved?” Hannibal asked. He was no longer certain where they were headed. Will seemed to be walking simply to walk, not even glancing at their surroundings but focused on the placement of his feet. Hannibal would have preferred to walk through the park with Will under different circumstances, perhaps taking in the artistry of the sculptures, but for now he was content to follow where the medium led him. 

Will stopped walking and stood quietly, looking out across the largely empty section of the park. Hannibal could sense his hesitation. 

“You mentioned you owed the police chief a debt,” Hannibal said, keeping his tone gentle but continuing to push for an answer. 

“I shot someone,” Will said so quietly it was almost inaudible. Hannibal stilled as well. He had not expected that, but felt a flicker of excitement at the admission. He was careful to remain neutral but not distant as Will searched his face. Eventually Will’s gaze dropped to his hands, and then he turned to stare at the monument of William Wallace, standing out starkly against the newly bare trees. 

Hannibal briefly considered the irony of the sculpture in front of them as he allowed the silence to stretch, breaking it only when it became clear Will was not going to continue speaking without encouragement. 

“I admit that’s not what I expected to hear,” Hannibal said. “But I am certain any action you took was justified.”

The ghost of a smile appeared on Will’s face. “You have a lot of faith in me, Count,” he said. “I’m not sure you know me that well.”

“I would like to know you, Will,” Hannibal said, entirely genuine. “And I would like for you to know me.” He stepped slightly closer so that they were standing shoulder to shoulder with only the barest space between them. Will glanced at him briefly but did not move away. 

“Three teenage boys disappeared over the course of a month,” Will said, not looking at Hannibal. “Each of their bodies was found a few days after their initial disappearance, naked in the woods. Jack asked me to try to communicate with the victims. They were all - simple. The guy who took them told them they were special, then drugged them, abused them, and left them in the woods like trash.”

“You found him,” Hannibal said. 

“And I shot him in the shoulder,” Will said. “Jack said it was self-defense.”

“Did you want to kill him?” Hannibal asked. He was immeasurably pleased to have another glimpse at the hard, dark thing he’d seen hiding behind Will’s eyes.

“Certainly a part of me did in that moment,” Will said. 

“You believe you owe Jack a debt because of this?” Hannibal asked. 

“I do owe him a debt,” Will said. “I could be behind bars.”

He looked as though he expected Hannibal to leave at any moment. When Hannibal did not move, he laughed harshly. “Does my secret live up to your expectations, Count?”

“I’d still like to know how Abigail ended up your ward.”

“I think that’s enough sharing for one day. I’d prefer not to scare you away.” 

“I think you’d find that difficult,” Hannibal said, noting how the medium’s eyelashes fluttered in response. “But if I may - what made Jack ask for your assistance? Were you acquainted previously?”

Will shook his head. “My father had a tendency to over-indulge. I saw Jack at the station a few times as a result. I’m not certain how he became aware of my profession - I hadn’t been in town long at that point - but his wife had recently passed. He came to a séance hoping to speak with her.” 

“And I gather she obliged,” Hannibal said.

“Surprisingly, yes,” Will smiled openly. “I don’t remember what she said to him, only that she loved him deeply.”

“ _Love, that moves the sun and other stars,_ ” Hannibal quoted.

“Dante,” Will said, quietly. “We should all be so lucky.” There was a note of well-cloaked sadness behind the words. The medium shifted slightly, his shoulder brushing against Hannibal’s. 

“I shouldn’t keep you,” Will said. Hannibal checked his pocket watch, realizing with some resentment that he should go in order to prepare for and keep his appointments. 

“Have you ever been to the orchid room in the Conservatory, Will?” Hannibal asked, as they started back toward his vehicle. Will shook his head. 

“Perhaps another time you and Abigail will join me for a visit there,” Hannibal said. “But as there is not time today, I will give you a ride home.” It wasn’t a question, and Hannibal was grateful when Will made no attempt to demur. He wasn’t sure how the medium would have managed to find a cab. 

As the motorcar arrived at the Graham home, Hannibal looked to Will. He was slightly disheveled from the wind and Hannibal’s hand itched to brush the hair from the medium’s forehead.

“I’m considering hosting the dinner party Mrs. Komeda requested,” Hannibal said. “I’ll send you a formal invite, but I was hoping you and Abigail would attend.”

Will ran a hand through his hair and smiled. “That’s three invites you’ve extended to us in two days, Count. People will talk.”

“The dinner party won’t be for at least two weeks,” Hannibal said, completely serious in the face of Will’s mirth. “I need time for the preparations.”

“We’ll be there,” Will laughed. “And we will see you tomorrow night.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I intended this chapter to go through the piano concert, but I had less time to write over the holidays (and I also set this aside briefly to write something for Hannibal Cre-ATE-Ives last fest). So I decided to split it, since this ends at a reasonable stopping point. Since I've written around half of what will now be the next chapter, it shouldn't be as long a gap of time in-between chapters (I really want to be updating weekly or better.)
> 
> So, some historical comments :)  
> There were black police officers employeed as early as the 1870s, but I only found one getting to lieutenant by the time he left the force. Although I'm sure there are some errors because this is not meticulously researched I'm trying to be reasonably realistic, but in this case I choose to just gloss over that and roll with it. 
> 
> I'm a little fast and loose with the geography of Druid Hill Park. The Maryland Zoo at Baltimore, formerly the Baltimore Zoo, really is a part of the Park, however, and was run as part of it for a long time. Now there's separate management for the zoo portion. The Main Valley is also closed - the cages there are way too small and have iron bars and are no good for the animals. It was left open for people to walk through for a while, but now a tram takes visitors from the entrance to the new animal areas. 
> 
> The sculpture of William Wallace was done in 1893 (I think. I'm confident it was the 1890s, anyway) and so I believe it would have been in the park at the time. 
> 
> The _Quid pro quo_ line is totally a call-out to Silence of the Lambs. I couldn't resist, sorry.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Rachmaninoff concert and dinner afterward.

The following morning found Hannibal waking, once again, from pleasurable dreams. The details were more fully formed this morning; or perhaps Hannibal’s memory of it was simply better. He indulged himself by recalling the details, remembering each moment vividly as he moved with purpose beneath his sheets. 

A chance encounter was unlikely to present itself again, particularly so soon, and Hannibal was grateful that Friday was a busy day. Still, time passed too slowly for his liking and he found himself headed to the Graham home somewhat - though not significantly - earlier than planned.

Hannibal was surprised when Will answered the door. “Hannibal,” he said, looking genuinely pleased. 

“I apologize for arriving early,” Hannibal said. 

“A common apology of yours,” Will teased, and Hannibal found he was smiling in spite of himself as Will took his coat. 

“I was expecting Abigail to answer the door,” he said. 

“Disappointed?” Will asked, his tone still teasing. 

“Not in the slightest,” Hannibal said. He allowed himself to take in Will’s form as the medium led him to the now-familiar sitting room. He was wearing a dark purple suit, a slightly older style and a color that had only been briefly popular but that suited him particularly well. It was double-breasted, accentuating his strong but slender figure. The violet in the suit brought out the grey in his eyes over the blue, giving him a hint of danger. He had slicked his hair back, taming the curls. Hannibal had to admit it gave him an air of authority and respectability - though he longed to run a hand through the medium’s hair, ruining the control and restoring its wild, untamed state. 

He looked splendid. 

“Thank you,” Will said, flushing. “You look incredible as well.” 

Hannibal was surprised to realize he’d made his last observation out loud, but quickly pushed the thought aside as Will pulled out a bottle and two wine glasses. “Join me while Abigail finishes getting ready?”

“You have wine glasses after all,” Hannibal commented, accepting a glass.

“I was wondering why you used tumblers that night, but it suited the evening and I wasn’t about to complain.” Will’s eyes twinkled. He looked better rested, Hannibal realized, the dark circles not gone but certainly diminished. 

“We were unable to locate the wine glasses,” Hannibal said. “I was given the impression you rarely have wine in the house.” 

“Abs,” Will said, fondly. It was the first time he’d called her anything other than Abigail, Hannibal realized - at least in his presence. “It’s true we rarely have wine. I procured this bottle with the possibility you would be by early in mind.”

“I’m glad you did,” Hannibal said, the wine warming his chest and face. 

“Speaking of Abigail,” Will said, “she received an invitation for dinner this evening from a girlfriend who will also be at the concert. Would it offend you if she chose not to join us after?”

“Not at all,” Hannibal said. He felt, in fact, rather excited at the prospect of having Will to himself for the evening. “I imagine it will be pleasant for her to spend time with a friend her own age.”

“I believe the stronger draw is the presence of an older brother,” Will said, a slightly sardonic lilt to his voice. 

Hannibal considered the medium. Having witnessed his protective instinct regarding Abigail more than once, Hannibal was surprised at how relaxed he seemed. 

“I can’t say I’m thrilled about the idea,” Will said, responding to Hannibal’s unspoken thoughts, “but Abigail and I have kept to ourselves for long enough. Eventually we must each venture back into the world. She should have friends. And - prospects.” His expression turned wistful and he sipped his wine, slowly. Turning to the clock, he sighed. “Excuse me for a moment while I hurry her along.”

As Will left the room he touched Hannibal lightly on the shoulder, the faint brush of the medium’s fingertips across the fabric of his suit causing a pleasant tingle on Hannibal’s skin. He heard Will ascending the stairs and the soft murmur of voices. 

“She’s coming,” Will said, returning. Hannibal found himself oddly disappointed when the same touch did not reoccur, the medium instead retrieving his wine glass and finishing its contents. Hannibal followed suit as Abigail entered the sitting room. She was dressed elegantly in an ankle length dress, cinched slightly at the waist in the recent style. It was also a shade of purple, he noticed, so that she and Will complemented each other.   
She was humming. Hannibal recognized it as the same song she had been humming the night of the last séance and was struck by the same haunting sense of familiarity. He was frustrated at being unable to recall where or when he had heard it. 

“What song is that?” he asked, finally. 

Abigail looked startled and then smiled. “Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t realize I was humming. I don’t know. Will keeps singing it and I picked it up, I suppose. It has words, but I don’t understand them.”

“What are they?” Hannibal asked, a prickling sensation at the back of his skull. 

“ _Pelel, pelel, nešk miegelį_ ,” she sang, stopping abruptly, “Sorry, that’s all I caught. I asked Will about the words but he didn’t know either.”

“It’s a lullaby,” Hannibal said, the memory of the song emerging suddenly: his mother, singing to Mischa in her bassinet the next room over.

“It’s pretty,” Abigail said. “My grandmother used to sing me lullabies when I was little, before she passed. What’s it about?”

“A mouse bringing sleep to a young girl,” Hannibal said. “Do you know where Will heard it?”

Abigail shrugged. “He probably couldn’t tell you. Sometimes he - hears things.” She smiled. “But you know that.”

“Are we ready?” Will asked, appearing in the doorway. 

“Yes,” Hannibal and Abigail said in unison, causing Will to smile. 

Hannibal suggested that Abigail sit in front with the driver, while he and Will took the backseat. Will gave him an odd look, but Abigail was elated and immediately stepped in through the opened door. Hannibal opened the rear door himself, with a nod to his driver, gesturing for Will to step in first. 

Will pushed himself to the other side of the seat and Hannibal climbed in after him, unintentionally placing his hand over the medium’s as he settled himself. Instead of pulling away, Will turned his hand and threaded their fingers together. He smiled at Hannibal briefly and then faced front. Warmth spread from their joined hands up Hannibal’s arm and into his chest. 

Abigail chattered excitedly during the drive, telling Will again they needed to invest in an automobile. Will laughed and gripped Hannibal’s hand more tightly, offering her a bicycle instead. It was a pity there was no way to surreptitiously ask his driver to slow down and prolong the trip.

As they arrived at the concert hall Will released his grip and Hannibal’s hand felt cold at the loss. He opened the rear door himself and the medium followed him out. His driver opened Abigail’s door and helped her step down. 

“Two hours, I’d imagine,” Hannibal said. His driver nodded before pulling away. 

Abigail threaded her arm through Will’s and leaned into him. Instead of walking with them, Hannibal dropped back slightly to observe. In her evening shoes, she was nearly as tall as he was. They fit together well, the ease of being in each other’s company clear. It spoke of trust and a long shared history. Will withdrew his arm and put it around Abigail’s shoulders; the protective gesture of an older brother. 

Hannibal found himself wondering if he and Mischa might have done this, had circumstances been different. He imagined Mischa on his arm, wondering if she would have enjoyed the brighter colors favored currently or if she would have preferred something more muted. She would be older than Abigail, of course. Likely older than Will, Hannibal realized. Perhaps she would have chosen something colorful but darker. A nod to the festive colors of youth without fully embracing them. A deep red. Perhaps a burgundy, or a darker mahogany color. Unlike Abigail, Mischa would have worn her hair up in the current style. He indulged in the image briefly before pushing it away and falling back into step with his guests. 

Attendees were milling about the entrance to the concert hall; smiling faces, chatter, and drinks in hand. He procured a glass of champagne from one of the waiters and handed it to Abigail, earning a pleased grin. 

“Whiskey?” he asked Will. He had the distinct impression the medium wanted to say yes, but instead shook his head. 

“I’ll stick with wine for now,” he said, prompting Hannibal to procure two glasses of red wine from the next waiter passing by. They stood together slightly to the left of the entrance, watching the crowds mingle. Will had hollowed into himself, hunched slightly in his suit jacket in an attempt to make himself smaller. Abigail threaded her arm through his again, and her presence seemed to sooth him. 

“Alana’s here,” she commented. Hannibal watched as the tension that had left Will at Abigail’s touch returned with equal speed. 

“Is she,” he said. 

“She’s headed this way,” Abigail said, and Hannibal looked to see a petite woman headed toward them. Hair hair was pinned up but obviously quite long, and she was wearing an emerald dress with a gauzy top that showcased her shoulders and collarbone. She had a determined stride and an equally determined look on her face. Hannibal glanced at Will. The medium looked stricken. 

“Will Graham,” she smiled as she came to stand in front of them. 

“Alana,” Will said. The expression on his face was somewhere between pleased and pained,. 

It’s good to see you,” Alana said. “I didn’t expect you to be here.” She placed her hand on Will’s forearm and Hannibal felt a hot spike surge through his chest. He was gratified to see Will pull his arm away, causing a brief flash of hurt in the woman’s eyes. 

“Count Lector invited us,” Will said, gesturing to Hannibal and making introductions. 

“I’ve heard of you,” Alana said, and Hannibal chuckled politely. 

“I’m afraid I quite frequently make appearances in the society pages,” he commented. “Most people have.” 

Alana smiled in response. “No, I’ve heard of you professionally. You were a surgeon before you became interested in psychiatry.”

Will looked at Hannibal sharply, as if that were new information, much to Hannibal’s surprise. 

“Only briefly,” he said, “and now I’m afraid I am a lay-about Count and socialite.”

Alana laughed pleasantly in response. “That’s not what I’ve heard. It’s lovely to meet you.”

“The pleasure is mine,” Hannibal responded. He took her offered hand and kissed it quickly, enjoying the flush it brought to her cheeks. Beside him Will bristled, tensing further and gripping his wineglass tightly. Abigail looked from Alana to Hannibal to Will and then back to Hannibal, and, apparently having decided something, placed her hand on Alana’a arm. 

“Would you help me find Marissa?” she asked. “I’m sure Count Lector has people he wants to speak with or I’d ask him.” She flashed Hannibal a conspiratorial smile. “Perhaps I can find another glass of champagne on the way.” 

Alana laughed pleasantly again. “Of course,” she said, smiling at Hannibal and Will in turn before Abigail pulled her away. Will exhaled as soon as she was gone. 

“You’re quite tense, Will,” Hannibal said softly. “Would you be more comfortable if we headed to my box?” 

Will sighed. “I would be, in fact, but Abigail was kind enough to distract Alana and I wouldn’t want to head to your box without her.” 

“Alana seems pleasant,” Hannibal said. 

“You seemed taken with her.” His tone was measured and polite, but the hard edge behind it was unmistakable. Hannibal smiled. Will’s jealousy was as enticing as his anger. 

“She is interesting, but I find myself quite preoccupied by my present company,” he said. The wineglass raised to Will’s lips did nothing to hide the flush that spread from his neck to his cheeks. Hannibal wanted to ask what had occurred between the two of them, but instead opted to remain silent. Will seemed aware of the unspoken question nonetheless.

“I met her soon after arriving here,” he explained. “I was - interested.”

“It can be difficult to know if our interests are shared,” Hannibal said.

Will shrugged. “She was interested in me, in the end. Only not the way I was interested in her. She’s tried hard to be my friend since.”

“It can be difficult to recover from rejection,” Hannibal’s tone was carefully neutral. 

Instead of responding, Will sipped his wine slowly. “Shouldn’t you mingle?” he asked. “I’m certain there are people you’d like to speak with.” 

“I’m speaking with him,” Hannibal said, earning a fond but exasperated look from the medium. 

“Do you really want the society pages printing that you spent your time here solely in the company of a medium?” Will asked. He tilted his wineglass toward the corner of the room, indicting a thin woman wearing a burgundy dress despite her red curls, which she had pulled up messily and clasped with a sliver clip meant to resemble leaves, or perhaps feathers. “You do recognize Freddie Lounds, don’t you?”

“Yes.” Hannibal said. “And I suppose if we do not mingle on our own, others will come to us.” He eyed the dark haired, nervous individual headed toward them. Someone he would rather not see. Will followed his gaze.

“I dislike large groups,” Will said. “There are too many thoughts and emotions. But I need another drink - “ he held up his empty wineglass - “so I will brave the crowds.” 

Without waiting for a response Will walked into the center of the room, chest squared, steeling himself for what was to come. He took a glass of red wine from a waiter, smiled politely, and walked toward the familiar face of Mrs. Komeda. Hannibal followed, groaning inwardly when he realized the person he sought to avoid had also headed that direction.

“Count Lecter!” The man’s eyes brightened as Hannibal drew near. Avoiding Franklyn Froideveaux was not going to be an option this evening. 

“Mr. Froideveaux, Mrs. Komeda.” Hannibal nodded to the two in turn. 

“How very pleasant to see you here, Count Lecter,” Franklyn said, beaming at Hannibal. 

“How do you know the Count?” Mrs Komeda asked, saving Hannibal from responding. 

“I used to be one of his clients,” Franklyn offered happily. “That is, until he began his travels. I hope to be one again, now that he appears to be staying in Baltimore.” 

Hannibal was once again saved from responding - this time by the man himself. “And is this the spiritualist you’re been spending so much time with?” he asked, turning to Will. 

Will extended his hand. “Will Graham, Medium,” he said. 

“That’s so intriguing. What is the difference between a spiritualist and a medium?” Franklyn asked. 

“A spiritualist is a fraud,” Will said. Franklyn choked on his drink and Hannibal sipped his wine to hide his smile. Mrs. Komeda smiled as well. She might have had one too many already, because her eyes raked across Will in a way that was not entirely appropriate; particularly for a married woman. Hannibal thought of Will’s flush when he’d suggested Mrs. Komeda had come for a pretty face rather than the experience of the séance. The medium was likely aware of her _appreciation_ for him. 

The lights flicked off and then on, indicating the guests should begin making their way to their seats. As if on cue, Abigail appeared behind Will, threading her arm through his. 

“Is this lovely young lady your daughter?” Franklyn asked and Hannibal watched the flash in Will’s eyes. It was no less dangerous when directed at another. 

“I’m his ward,” Abigail said, smiling. “And we should head to our seats.” She pulled Will gently away from the chorus of pleasantries as Hannibal led them to his box. 

“This is incredible,” Abigail said, approaching the railing to peer down. Hannibal stood next to her as they watched the guests below taking their seats, many of whom raised their eyes to take in Hannibal and Abigail. Will stayed back, melting into the shadows cast by the drapes and only taking his seat as the lights dimmed. Abigail had seated herself to Hannibal’s left, leaving Will to his right. The two looked at each other across him and shared a smile. 

The audience stood to applaud as the conductor took the stage and Hannibal was acutely aware of how Will’s arm brushed briefly against his as they moved. He focused his attention on Rachmaninoff, seated tall and firm at his bench. As the audience seated themselves once again, the conductor turned to the pianist, who placed his large hands on the keys with a gentle reverence. Hannibal felt the buzz of anticipation in the hall and looked at Will from the corner of his eye. The medium was sitting up straighter, leaned slightly forward, his hands on his thighs vibrating in anticipation. He was at much at the ready to begin as the pianist himself. 

With a nod from the conductor, Rachmaninoff struck the first chord, followed by a lone low note. The pattern continued, the striking of the chords growing in force, intensity radiating from the pianist, before the chords became a flurry of notes and his hands began to chase each other across the lower half of the keyboard. The orchestra began to play, filling out the mood of the piece, which soon became lilting arpeggios of higher pitched notes. The alternating strength and delicacy with which the pianist struck the keys was fascinating to watch, his hands spread wide and at the ready. 

Unable to control and disappointed in the changes occurring as a result of the Bolshevik revolution, Rachmaninoff had left his country less than 2 years earlier. Displacement was a feeling Hannibal understood well. Though the pianist was unable to control the changes in his homeland, he was the master of his universe here. He was poised, controlled, and his hands held a graceful strength. It was beautiful. 

The strings swelled, the trumpets added their brassy notes and the timpani rolled as Rachmaninoff’s hands bounced up and down, traversing the length of the piano in flashes of quick, controlled movement before finally crashing into the final chords with emphasis and finality. 

To Hannibal’s surprise, Will stood almost immediately. He and Abigail were quick to follow, as was the rest of the audience. As the lights rose again and the audience began to head out for intermission, Hannibal considered the medium. Though the difference was slight, he was flushed and his breathing was faster and shallower. His pupils were slightly dilated and that pulsing intensity that Hannibal had felt so many times under his gaze was apparent in his stance. 

Hannibal felt a brief flash of jealousy and possessiveness. His appreciation of art and music was vast, but he would never experience it in such a visceral way. 

“Are you enjoying the concert?” Hannibal asked. 

“It’s incredible,” Abigail said. “Thank you for having us as your guests.” 

Will nodded and smiled. “Very much,” he said quietly. He sat down, going limp in the chair. “Would you mind terribly if I stayed here during intermission? Or would that be unforgivably rude?” 

“Entirely forgivable,” Hannibal said. “Abigail and I will make our way through the masses. Would you care for another drink?” 

Will shook his head but smiled gratefully. Hannibal extended his arm to Abigail. As they drew back the curtain to leave, Abigail whispered “get him one anyway.” 

Catching Hannibal’s surprise, she laughed lightly. “We don’t do this often because it’s overwhelming for him. I doubt he would have accepted an invitation from anyone else.” 

“If I recall, you had something to do with him accepting,” Hannibal responded. 

“Perhaps, but I had nothing to do with him accepting your invitation to a dinner party,” she said. Her smile held some personal knowledge Hannibal longed to extract. “That will also be overwhelming for him.”

“I’ll endeavor to make it as comfortable as possible,” Hannibal said. Abigail took another glass of champagne from a passing waiter. “Red wine or whiskey for Will, do you think?” 

“Stick with red wine,” Abigail said. “He drinks whiskey because it dulls him more. He wants to experience this.” 

“You know him quite well,” Hannibal commented, taking two glasses. 

Abigail arched an eyebrow and laughed. “At times you appear content to take us as we are, Count, mysteries and all. But you can’t resist the urge to unravel the truth of our past, can you?” 

“I’m curious.” 

“Quite curious,” Abigail said, teasingly. “He’s been my guardian for slightly more than three years, but we’ve known each other, or at least of each other, for much longer. Of course, you already knew that. He moved to my hometown when he was 17. I was two. He knew my parents socially - well, as socially as Will knows anyone. Does that satisfy your curiosity for now?” 

“Alas, I fear you have only made me more curious,” Hannibal said, earning a genuine laugh from Abigail. “How did you end up his ward?”

“The obvious answer is that my parents died, Count,” she said. “Will and I don’t like to discuss the specifics. They’re - unpleasant. I prefer not to recount the story. But I’m certain he’ll tell you when he’s ready. ” 

When, not if, Hannibal noted. Abigail smiled, clearly sensing his pleasure, and Hannibal was reminded that the two of them read him perhaps a little too well. 

“He trusts you,” she said. “So do I. Although - there’s something about you.” 

“Yes?” Hannibal inquired. 

She shook her head. “You remind me of my father in a way I can’t quite place.”

“Is that unpleasant for you?” Hannibal asked. 

She shook her head again, but didn’t comment further. A dark haired girl in a lively yellow dress approached them and Abigail introduced Hannibal to her friend Marissa. They made polite conversation for a few moments, Hannibal passing one of the wine glasses to Abigail so he could greet her friend appropriately, before the lights flickered in warning. Intermission was nearly over. 

“I’ll see you after,” Abigail said to Marissa as they headed back to the box. Will was still seated, but looking more himself. Hannibal passed him the glass of wine. 

“Abigail suggested I get you one,” he responded to Will’s raised eyebrow. “Don’t feel obligated to drink it.”

Will only smiled softly and shook his head, taking a small sip as Abigail looked on, amused. 

“How many glasses of champagne is that, Abs?” he asked. 

“My third,” she said. “Don’t worry so much Will. I won’t be drunk at Marissa’s dinner table.”

She settled back into her seat, sipping from her glass daintily, as the lights once again began to dim. 

The second half of the concert was a mix of solo piano pieces and those with orchestral accompaniment. Most were the work of other composers, though the pianist played his own version of the Star Spangled Banner, which the audience thoroughly enjoyed. The performance included a beautiful rendition of Chopin’s Prelude in D Flat Major; at once delicate and powerful. 

Sensing movement next to him Hannibal shifted slightly in his seat to look at Will. The medium had leaned forward, hands clasped between his knees, lips slightly parted. A few errant strands of hair had come undone, laying lightly against his cheek. Sensing Hannibal looking at him, Will glanced over. He licked his lips and smiled before returning his attention to the stage. Hannibal also looked back to the stage, though his attention remained divided. 

As the concert ended the audience rose to their feet once again. Will was less affected than he had been at intermission, though he was still flushed. Hannibal retrieved their jackets and helped Abigail into hers. Will wore a familiar faraway expression on his face and Abigail touched his hand lightly. 

“Marissa will get you home safely?” Will asked, coming back to himself. 

“Don’t worry Will, I’ll be fine,” she said, smiling and kissing him lightly on the cheek before heading toward Marissa. 

“My car should be here,” Hannibal said gently, gesturing to the door. Will nodded, casting one last look over his shoulder at Abigail. She smiled and waved for him to go. 

Will sat quietly during the ride to Hannibal’s home. The excitement of the evening appeared to have taken its toll. 

“If you’re tired, I can drop you at your home,” Hannibal offered. He was relatively certain Will would decline the offer. 

“I’m sorry,” Will said. “I feel a bit overwhelmed, but I am very much looking forward to dinner.” His lashes fluttered over his cheeks, making him appear almost coy. 

The driver dropped them out front before parking the car in the carriage house. They moved up the walk and Hannibal took Will’s coat, hanging it before ushering him into the kitchen. He had already prepared the meat for the dish, pulling it out of his refrigerator to finish cooking. 

“Shall we have a drink while I cook?” Hannibal asked. removing his suit jack and unbuttoning and rolling up his sleeves. Taking his cue from Hannibal, Will also removed his jacket, hanging it over his arm.

“I should probably decline,” Will said. “But yes, that would be nice.”

Considering his selection, Hannibal decided on a red beaujolais and poured them each a glass. Handing one to Will, he took the medium’s suit jack it and hung it, along with his own, in the foyer. Will stood at the kitchen counter, twisting the stem of the glass idly between his thumb and forefinger as he watched Hannibal’s preparations. 

“Can I help?” Will asked. 

“You’re my guest, Will,” Hannibal said. “Please relax and enjoy yourself.”

“I thought your cook might have made dinner tonight, since we were out,” Will commented. And then, teasing, “Why even employ a cook if she doesn’t prepare dinner for you and your guests?” 

Hannibal smiled. “Although it’s been some time since I had a dinner party, I used to host them frequently. She’s invaluable for the preparation of the food and I would retain her services for that reason only. But she does cook for me more frequently than you might think.”

Will sipped his wine thoughtfully, watching as Hannibal cut figs to assemble the salad. 

“How did you manage to get figs this late in the year?” he asked. 

“Luck,” Hannibal said. “The warm spell we had earlier extended the season of my trees somewhat."

Once the salad was prepared and the meat seared, Hannibal ushered Will into the dining room while he finished plating the meal. He stilled before setting the plate down in front of his guest, wondering how Will would react. 

“Seared beef tongue with orange and a fig-pomegranate salad with a ginger balsamic vinaigrette,” he announced. 

“Looks delicious,” Will said. If the idea of eating tongue bothered him, he didn’t comment on it. Hannibal doubted it was out of politeness and found he was pleased with Will’s reaction. Or rather, with his lack of reaction. 

“Thank you for inviting us to the concert, Hannibal,” Will said between bites. “It was incredible.” 

“The music was quite immersive,” Hannibal agreed. 

“Particularly the first half.” A bit of the earlier flush rose to Will’s cheeks, and he seemed to vibrate with the memory of it, lips once again parting slightly. Hannibal had a brief vision of other ways he could solicit that reaction from the medium. The room was suddenly quite warm. 

He stood to collect their dishes. “Shall we move to the sitting room? I have lemon tarts for dessert, but I thought perhaps we could relax and finish our wine first.” 

Will nodded. He had a nervous expression on his face and opened his mouth as if to say something, only to close it again and sip his wine.

Hannibal took their empty dishes into the kitchen, placing them by the sink. He stood for a moment, wondering what had made Will nervous and what he had been about to say, before returning to the dining room. 

“Would you prefer a whiskey to the rest of your wine?” Hannibal asked. 

Will twirled his glass again. “It’s a shame to waste good wine,” he said, “particularly when it’s becoming harder to get. I’m glad the temperance movement hasn’t impacted the concert hall’s service.”

“I imagine it will soon enough,” Hannibal said. 

“Yes.” Will seemed distracted. 

“Leave the wine, Will,” Hannibal said. Will looked up at him, blue eyes vibrant and fluid, tilting his head slightly and exposing the pale line of his neck. Hannibal imagined sucking a bruise onto the pale flesh, thinking how lovely it would look marred by his teeth. 

As they entered the sitting room Will chose to stand, instead, staring intently into the fire. There was a nervous energy about him, not quite tension but something more anticipatory. He’d enjoyed the Glenlivet in the past, so Hannibal poured them each two fingers, handing a tumbler to Will while his own remained resting on the sideboard. The medium did not pull away when their fingers brushed, meeting Hannibal’s eyes with that familiar intensity. They stood for a moment, both gripping the whiskey glass, until Hannibal let go and retrieved his own. 

Will sipped his whiskey slowly, and Hannibal came to stand next to him. The medium shifted his posture ever so slightly so that their shoulders were touching and remained there, not coming closer or moving away, but allowing that single point of contact to connect them. They stood quietly. Hannibal enjoyed the companionship of it; the warm spot at his shoulder that was Will’s touch and the silence that did not need to be filled. 

Swirling his whiskey Will sighed softly and contentedly. Hannibal turned to look at him. 

“Tonight has been quite enjoyable, Count,” he said. It was a statement to end the night. He didn’t want Will to go. Scrambling for something, Hannibal turned to look at the medium. 

“Will,” he started, uncharacteristically uncertain how to continue. Will raised his eyebrows, waiting. 

When Hannibal said nothing, Will’s hand came to rest gently on his forearm. The look on his face was kind but curious. “What is it?” he asked. 

“I want to know what that whiskey tastes like on your tongue.” 

It wasn’t what he meant to say. If he’d meant to say anything at all, it would certainly not have been that. But once the words had left his mouth there was no retreating from the moment. Despite their clasped hands earlier, despite the conversation that had passed between them, Hannibal did not know what reaction to expect. 

Will’s mouth curved into a sly smile and he set his tumbler on the mantel. “Did you want me to describe it, or were you hoping to discover that for yourself?” he asked. His eyes were dancing. He licked his lips. 

Hannibal set his own tumbler beside Will’s, and his arm shot out to grab the medium by the hair, running his hand through it and loosening the curls. He pulled Will’s head back gently, bending over him so that his lips hovered over the medium’s. 

“I think I would like to know for myself,” he said. 

“Then I encourage you to find out,” came the soft reply. 

It was rich and buttery, with a hint of oaky spice and malt, and sweeter than he could possibly have imagined.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The lullaby Abigail is humming can be found on [youtube](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8k0Lmaldkyo), if you're curious. 
> 
> The notes have both the Lithuanian lyrics and an English translation, which is pretty cool I think. 
> 
> I don't know what Rachmaninoff would actually have played at his concerts, full disclosure, so I made up most of that. He did play his own arrangement of the Star Spangled Banner at a concert in Rhode Island (according to the web, anyway). I have no idea if he would have done it more than once. The piece I describe for the first half is his concerto #2, which is one of the most popular pieces of classical music that exists. He'd composed it several years earlier, but I see no reason why he _wouldn't_ have performed it, so I figured - why not? There's a youtube video of Anna Fedorova playing the piece [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rEGOihjqO9w) if you're curious about that one. 
> 
> Also, a word on the spelling of the man's name. It's sometimes Rachmaninov, which I would have used as a transliteration based on my barely informed knowledge of Russian (I did take a little bit of it, but can only say random things like "how are you?" and "I work at the bank" (which I do not)). However most of what I found about Rachmaninoff spelled his name with the "ff" instead of the "v", and that's how I've commonly seen it on his music. 
> 
> I tried - admittedly briefly - to see what spelling the man himself preferred and it seemed like it was probably the "ff". Regardless, I went with the more common spelling.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after, breakfast, and some more back story is revealed. 
> 
> This isn't super smutty, in that nothing in here is nearly as explicit as something other things I've written, but I'd still caution against reading it at work.

Hannibal woke to the feeling of a finger tracing a figure eight on his chest and stomach. He smiled without opening his eyes. The cool morning air contrasted with the warmth of the sheets and the presence of a warm body next to him, creating a cocoon of contentment from which he did not wish to emerge. 

“Good morning,” his bedmate said softly. The finger did not still until Hannibal opened his eyes, turning his head to meet half-lidded blue. 

“Good morning,” Hannibal said in return, his smile broadening. He studied the man next to him, committing the details of the moment to memory; the slightly sleepy eyes, the dark halo of curls, the pleased but mischievous smile. He reached up, touching Will’s temple with two fingers and running them down the side of his face, tracing the line of his jaw. He attempted to count Will’s eyelashes as the medium closed his eyes, leaning into the touch, the edges of his lips curving further upward. 

Will made a soft, pleased noise as Hannibal’s fingers travelled across his lips before pressing between them gently. 

“Did you sleep well?” Hannibal asked. He felt the affirmative hum around his fingers before Will pulled away.

“Once we went to sleep,” Will said, the same mischievous smile curling his lips. 

Hannibal smiled in return. The medium’s fingers were dancing down his chest, leaving a trail of heat behind them. “I’m sorry to have kept you up,” he said. 

“No you’re not,” Will countered. His fingers moved lower and he leaned closer. 

Hannibal swallowed. “A gentleman would have let you sleep.” 

“A _gentleman_ would have sent me home,” Will laughed. “A _gentleman_ would not have been so quick to share your bed.” The medium closed his eyes before pressing his lips to Hannibal’s, sighing contentedly. “I’m glad we’re not gentleman.”

Hannibal smiled into the kiss. The taste of the whiskey was gone, but the sweetness remained.

“What will your staff think of you having a man in your bed?” Will asked.

“My staff were all hired for their discretion,” Hannibal said, running a hand through Will’s hair. “Will Abigail be concerned that you didn’t return home last night?”

“Abigail is astute. She won’t be entirely surprised.” 

Will pressed his lips back to Hannibal’s, opening his mouth only slightly; testing, teasing. Hannibal grabbed him by the back of the neck and rolled them so that he was straddling Will as he deepened the kiss. 

Kissing along Will’s jaw Hannibal moved down to the pulse point on his neck, pressing his lips against it and and licking gently. He had the urge to suck or bite. Something that would leave a bruise. Something that would mark Will as his.

“Lower,” Will said. Hannibal pulled back, meeting the medium’s eyes with a question. “That’s too high to hide.” 

Will pressed a hand to his clavicle and, taking the cue, Hannibal bit. He sunk his teeth in the space around Will’s collarbone with enough force to leave a mark but not break the skin. 

The medium gritted his teeth and moaned. “Harder.” 

Pleased, Hannibal obliged, feeling the skin tear under his teeth as the taste of copper filled his mouth. Will’s breathing became quicker and shallower and he shifted his hips encouragingly as Hannibal licked along the wound. It wasn’t deep and shouldn’t scar, but it would take some time to heal. 

Will’s head was tilted back toward the headboard, his lips parted and his cheeks flushed. His eyes were closed, and when he opened them again they were pleasingly dark. He swallowed, and Hannibal watched as his neck bobbed. He still longed to see a bruise bloom across the tender skin. 

Sitting back slightly, he circled Will’s neck with his hand. He applied no pressure, but Will’s eyes darkened further suggesting pressure would not be unwelcome. Removing his hand from the medium’s neck, he dragged his fingertips down Will’s chest, feeling the ridges of the sternum beneath his skin and the fine dusting of hair that covered it. As he traced the edges of Will’s ribcage, fingers dipping in the spaces between the bones, he imagined pressing through the skin, merging fully into his chest. 

Will propped himself up on his elbows, his smile coy. He shifted his hips under Hannibal. “Much as I’m enjoying this, perhaps you’d consider moving your attentions elsewhere?” 

Hannibal chuckled. He’d been pleased to learn that Will was not a quiet lover; there was no question as to whether he was enjoying himself and he did not shy from providing instruction. Instead of answer, Hannibal moved to lie next to Will, pulling the medium onto his side so that they were face to face on the mattress. 

“I suppose I could be convinced,” Hannibal said. Will’s arousal pressed firmly against him, and Hannibal reached between them, shifting to line up properly, before slowly rolling his foreskin forward and onto Will, sheathing him. 

Will gasped at the sensation. The pull it created between them was a heady feeling, a conjoining pulsing with want and need. Hannibal met Will’s eyes, steady, stroking them each lightly in turn, only enough to keep them in sync and joined together, not enough to reach completion. 

They looked into each other’s eyes, not speaking - almost unbearably intimate. Hannibal could feel the shudder in Will’s body, the building pressure. It was intoxicating. The medium’s pupils were blown, his eyes impossibly black, with only a ring of vibrant blue surrounding the darkness. His lips parted to allow a low, keening moan. 

Suddenly he closed his eyes, tucking his chin down toward his chest. “Too much,” he said, “I’m sorry - it’s too much.” 

Hannibal kissed the top of his head, stroking him more firmly, feeling him spasm. The heat of his release and his soft moan sent Hannibal over his own edge. They were still connected but quickly coming apart, their mingled essence spilling onto bedsheets already stained with evidence of the night before. Though Hannibal was not particularly fond of messiness, this was the apparent exception. He quite liked the idea of being coated in their mixed sweat and semen. Bathing would be a necessity eventually, but for now he was loathe to rid himself of the smell of their joining. 

Will’s forehead was resting on Hannibal’s shoulder and Hannibal stroked the medium’s hair before moving lower, down to the line of a scar traveling across the back of his right shoulder. Hannibal traced it, marveling at the smoothness of the raised tissue. The human body had an incredible capacity to heal itself when properly treated; the marvel of it equal only to its inherent fragility. 

He longed to ask for the specifics of this particular scar. Will said he’d been stabbed, and Hannibal had inferred it had something to do with Abigail and why they left Louisiana. But he had decided time and time again, against even his own instincts, not to push. And Abigail had made something of a promise on her guardian’s behalf. Until the promise was fulfilled, Hannibal would touch, and admire, and wait. 

“I’m sorry,” Will said, quiet. 

“For what?” Hannibal asked, genuinely surprised. 

“Closing my eyes,” he said. “You wanted me to look.” 

Hannibal continued stroking Will’s scar with the tip of his finger. It hadn’t been a conscious thought, but he realized the medium was right. He had wanted Will to look. He wanted Will to see him raw and undone. 

He wanted Will to see him. That was a thrilling, dangerous thought.

“Eye contact can be quite intimate in certain circumstances,” Hannibal intoned, rather than confirm or deny Will’s comment. 

The medium scoffed at that, a huffing noise against Hannibal’s shoulder. “Eye contact is always intimate.”

“Will,” Hannibal said, though for the second time in less than a day he found he wasn’t certain how to continue. But perhaps voicing his name had been enough; he could feel Will relaxing against him. 

“I love the way you say my name.” His voice was barely a whisper. Hannibal had come to recognize the soft, low tone as the one he employed when sharing something he guarded closely. He was vulnerable, in this moment, and Hannibal briefly considered how to use that to his advantage. Instead he surrendered to the urge to curl an arm around Will and pull them taught together. 

“Will,” he said again, tongue curling around the sound of it and pressing gently against the back of his upper teeth. Will sighed. He had not moved his forehead from Hannibal’s shoulder. 

“I knew you wanted this the first time you called me Will,” he confessed. 

Hannibal stilled at the comment, at once pleased and disturbed at the medium’s insight. He ran his hand through Will’s hair once more. “You knew the full breadth of my feelings before I did, it would seem.”

Will made a humming noise. “That’s what I do.”

“I thoroughly enjoyed that day, and shall fondly cherish the memory of using whiskey tumblers as wine glasses.” 

Will laughed then, finally lifting his head to meet Hannibal’s eyes. “That wasn’t the first time.”

“No?” Hannibal searched Will’s eyes before searching his own memory. 

“Oh Count Lecter,” the medium teased. “Alway so careful and in control. You called me Will at least half a dozen times before that night.” 

Will’s eyes were a vibrant blue, the amusement barely masking a more predatory glint. “And how many times shall I render you speechless, I wonder?” he continued. “You’re not a man easily thrown off balance, though it appears to excite you when it occurs.” 

_Only with you_ , Hannibal thought. _It only occurs with you._

As he spoke Will moved to straddle Hannibal’s hips, reversing their earlier position. He tangled his hands in Hannibal’s chest hair. “You find it equally enthralling and terrifying,” he said. “A man of your practiced composure. Such ineffable poise.” 

Will’s voice had taken on a dreamy quality, his eyes briefly unfocusing before he shifted them back to Hannibal. Will leaned down, but instead of a kiss his teeth pierced Hannibal’s bottom lip. Hannibal was once again gifted with the coppery taste of blood, this time his own, before Will began kissing him in earnest.

The medium sat back. There was something different about him - something about the way he held himself, something foreign in the expression on his face - but as Hannibal watched Will seemed to settle back into himself. He swiped his thumb across Hannibal’s wounded lip before putting it between his own lips and sucking.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked. 

“Not in any way I did not enjoy.” Hannibal had the sudden but distinct impression that a mirror had been held in front of him, only to be pulled away before he could take in the reflection. 

Hannibal sucked gently at his lower lip. It would swell, but he would enjoy the mark on his body as a tangible reminder of the morning. Will rolled over lie on his back, shifting to press himself down into Hannibal’s mattress. 

“That might be hard to explain,” Will said. “I’m sorry I got carried away.” Hannibal smiled. He didn’t sound particularly contrite. 

“I don’t mind,” Hannibal said. They lay together quietly, Hannibal listening to the man breathing next to him. He rarely felt so content. “I don’t want this morning to end,” he confessed. 

“I should ask about your intentions, Count,” Will said. The teasing tone faded as his voice became softer. “But it’s my hope this will not be our only morning together.”

Hannibal reached for his hand. “If I could, I would wake to you in my bed daily.”

The noise Will made in response managed to convey both contentment and frustration. “That would be difficult to navigate.”

“You could be my spiritual advisor,” Hannibal said, pulling Will’s hand to his lips and kissing his knuckles. 

Will laughed. “Have you so fully embraced spiritualism?” 

“I have fully embraced one aspect of it.” He rolled to his side, pulling Will to him and burying his head in the medium’s curls. Will still smelled of pine and citrus, mixed with the acrid saltiness of sweat and sex; the scent of copper stronger due to the bite on his neck. 

“I should bathe before you do that,” Will said. 

“I would much prefer you didn’t. You smell divine.”

“The smell of divinity is an unwashed body?”

“A body that was in the throes of ecstasy multiple times over the course of the evening.” Hannibal lifted his head. Will was flushed, but not from embarrassment. 

“Perhaps bathing is not a terrible idea,” Hannibal said. 

“If you say it’s not a terrible idea,” Will said, grinning, “why do I have the feeling that you intend to do terrible things?” 

“Because I do. Wonderful, terrible things.” Hannibal stood, pulling Will from the bed behind him. 

He watched Will marvel at the bathroom. Hannibal had foregone the typical white tile, opting instead for a more colorful blue. The bathtub was a large white clawfoot, set back in an alcove against the wall. But Will was most excited by the shower. He stood beneath it, turning his face up into the spray and reveling in the heat of the water. Hannibal watched him, enjoying the soft smile playing across his face and the water wetting his hair and dripping down his torso. 

The pale line of his neck was as enchanting as ever, and Hannibal ran his tongue from the bite on his clavicle to the pulse point below his jaw before he crowded Will into the corner and engulfed him in an entirely different form of heat. 

Despite Will’s protests that he could dry and dress himself, Hannibal took a distinct pleasure in wrapping him in one of his towels to dry him and again in one of his robes, covering the medium with his scent. He tied the sash of the robe around Will’s waist, the soft silk of it falling gently over his skin. His wide and impossibly blue eyes, damp hair long and slick against his cheeks and neck, and cheeks rosy from the heat of the shower - and Hannibal’s attentions - all made him appear younger than he was. He was vibrant; life and potential humming below the surface of his skin.

They had lingered in his rooms long enough that Hannibal was unsurprised by the knock at his door and the tray left behind. Will raised an eyebrow at the service, shaking his head gently so that his still damp curls fell around his face. He appeared to be on the verge of some comment, but instead chose to say nothing. Hannibal seated himself in one of the armchairs at the foot of his bed and motioned for Will to do the same. 

“This will be the first meal I’ve eaten here that you didn’t prepare,” Will commented.

“My cook is excellent,” Hannibal said. “It’s a ground beef, mushroom and tarragon frittata. And coffee, of course.” He passed Will a plate and cup. 

“Your meals always include meat,” Will said.

Hannibal couldn’t quit parse the look on Will’s face and stilled for a moment, watching the medium as he took his first bite. “I am fond of meat,” he said at last. Will smiled in response.

“For a dish you did not prepare, this is excellent,” he said. “Though in truth I would prefer your sausage to the ground beef.”

Hannibal hummed appreciatively. “I take great care in making it. The key is to select your own pig, ensuring the best quality meat.”

“A luxury most of us are not afforded,” Will said, though not unkindly.

Hannibal watched him intently. The medium was eating with relish, clearly enjoying the food. He was relaxed and calm, stretching after he set his plate down on the table next to them. The robe split open as he did, revealing his pale chest. His chest hair was sparse, contributing to his youthful appearance. He tilted his head and regarded Hannibal. Though he appeared the picture of innocent pleasure, there was a familiar intensity behind his eyes. 

“You aren’t going to ask, are you.” He appeared genuinely surprised. 

"You’ll tell me when you’re ready.” Hannibal looked at Will thoughtfully, considering his next move. “Perhaps instead you’d appreciate one of my secrets.” 

The mischievous glint was back in Will’s eyes. “I believe you owe me a secret, in fact, as you have heard a few of mine now.” Hannibal smiled. They were back on the _piste._

“I would like for you to know my secrets,” Hannibal responded honestly, surprised at the ragged edge to his voice. Will looked thoughtful at that, taking several long sips of coffee as he watched Hannibal over the rim of the cup. 

“How did you keep your land and title?” he asked, after some consideration. 

“Ah,” Hannibal said. “But I didn’t, as I’m sure you well know. I had to fight for their restoration.”

“Yes, but from what I understand your family holdings existed before the partitioning of the country, and they managed to retain them.”

Hannibal smiled. “Are you aware that most European royalty is related in some way?”

Will shook his head. “The best way to keep power in the family is to keep the family close, I suppose,” he said. 

“Yes,” Hannibal agreed. “Marriages were often arranged between close cousins for the purpose of alliances and were - still are, I suppose - nearly always political. There is quite a bit of that in my family history as well, though both my father and my uncle married for love.” 

He sighed, spreading the fingers of his right hand across his thigh and feeling Will’s eyes follow the motion. “My father had six fingers on his right hand,” he said. 

Will said nothing, his silence urging Hannibal to continue. “When powerful families are arguing over power, knowing to whom you should ingratiate yourself becomes a matter of survival. It worked for my family for several generations, until my parents were killed.”

“Is that when you lost your sister?” Will asked, softly. 

“Not precisely,” Hannibal said. “I lost her some time later.”

“I’m sorry.” Will placed his hand gently on Hannibal’s knee, allowing their fingertips to touch. Despite their far more intimate interactions, Hannibal still felt a heat at the light brush of Will’s fingertips against his. 

“Old wounds. Not things I enjoy speaking of, but they do not cause me as much pain as they once did. After the loss of my parents our land and assets were seized. My family home became an orphanage and I was one of the orphans it housed.” 

“That must have been difficult.” Will’s voice was soft. Hannibal gave him a gentle smile. 

“Eventually I was collected by my Uncle and his wife and lived with them in France before moving to Italy. Later I came to America, and later still I successfully petitioned for the return of my father’s assets - though at that point I had done well enough for myself here that it was more out of principle.”

Will sat back in his chair and looked over at the window, lost in thought. Hannibal wondered if he would press for additional details, or the specifics of Mischa’s death. He didn’t, instead focusing on the window and the mid morning light filtering into the room. 

“Velvet curtains,” Will murmured, a smile flitting across his lips. “Abigail’s family had velvet curtains. It was only one set; something of her grandmother’s. Didn’t fit the rest of the house at all.” 

“Abigail mentioned you knew her family socially.” 

“It would be more accurate to say I knew her grandmother socially. I lived outside of town and I’m not great at making friends. For some reason her grandmother took a liking to me. She would bring me pirogies when I was on patrol.” He smiled at the memory. 

“Her grandmother was Polish?” Hannibal asked, surprised. 

“Her mother’s mother,” Will clarified, shrugging. “Possibly. Her English was heavily accented but she never spoke anything else, and she never spoke about her homeland. I asked her once, but she told me she was American by choice and had left everything else behind.” He was quiet for a moment. “What else did Abigail tell you?” 

“Her grandmother used to sing her lullabies and it’s one of the few things she remembers,” Hannibal said. 

“Her grandmother passed when she was six, if I remember correctly. But surely that’s not all she told you, Count.” His tone was teasing, but the intensity Hannibal had come to recognize pulsed behind it. 

“No,” Hannibal agreed. “She also told me you are fifteen years her senior and have known her since she was two. I confess that makes you slightly younger than I thought.” 

Will laughed and shook his head. “That doesn’t make me a young man.”

“No? I’ve quite enjoyed your youthful virility.” 

Will flushed in response, sucking on his lower lip and drawing his teeth across it. Hannibal wanted to take it between his own teeth - a want he no longer had to deny - but decided instead to allow the conversation to continue. 

“She assured me you would tell me your shared history when you were ready,” Hannibal said quietly. 

Will sipped his coffee. Hannibal’s was tepid from sitting too long untouched and he imagined Will was drinking it to allow himself time to think, rather than out of any desire for the beverage itself. He considered calling for more, but the look on Will’s face stopped him. 

“That’s her way of telling me I should tell you,” he said. 

“It need not be today, Will,” Hannibal assured him, his face and body carefully calm. Will caught his eagerness regardless, giving Hannibal a rueful smile. 

He inhaled deeply and looked pointedly at Hannibal. “I killed Abigail’s father.” 

Will reclined in his chair with a casualness that was at odds with the sudden sharpening of his features. There was a challenge in his eyes, but he betrayed no guilt. The realization sent a frisson of pleasure down Hannibal’s spine. He kept his face calm, but the edges of his lips curved slightly in defiance. 

“Once again you have managed to surprise me,” Hannibal said.

Will laughed, the sound exploding out of him harsh and feral. “You’re taking this better than I thought,” he said. “Though perhaps I should not be surprised after our visit to the zoo.” 

“I fantasized about my revenge on the men who killed Mischa for many years,” Hannibal said. “My dreams were filled with their blood and pain.” And they had been nothing when compared to the reality of that revenge. He settled back in his chair. “Violence is a natural inclination and should not be abhorred out of hand. One must understand the context - I am curious to know what caused you to take his life.”

“Which version would you like?” Will asked. 

“The truth, I imagine, if the official version was different.” 

Will’s eyes were fixed on a point over Hannibal’s right shoulder. “There’s no Cartesian Truth. It’s more like an onion.” Seeing the confused expression on Hannibal’s face, he shrugged. “It takes on a wholly different appearance once peeled, and even then there are layers.” 

“An interesting analogy,” Hannibal said. “Onion is a frequent ingredient in food preparation, though rarely the focus of the dish.” 

Will smiled, briefly, before meeting Hannibal’s eyes once more. “Abigail’s father had taken several other lives, including a good friend of mine, Abigail’s mother, and an attempt at Abigail’s herself.” 

Hannibal clasped his hands and settled them in his lap, content to wait. 

“The first woman who disappeared drew very little attention,” Will said. “But the second woman did. Ten women in total. Late teens to early twenties. Similar in age and appearance.” 

“Did the victims speak to you?” Hannibal asked. Will shook his head. “You said one was a friend.” 

“Yes,” Will said. “A fellow police officer. She worked for the women’s bureau.”

“How did she become involved?” Hannibal asked. 

“She warned be to be careful,” Will said, eventually, not answering the question. “I didn’t listen. I didn’t go with anyone. I didn’t even take my gun. Abigail’s father attacked me. I fought back.”

His hands twitched, curling into fists and releasing as Hannibal watched, entranced. Though the details Will had provided were sparse, the dark, sharp thing he’d seen hiding behind the medium’s eyes was sitting in front of him. Will had never been more alluring. 

“And Abigail?” Hannibal asked. “You took away her father and then you took her in.” 

“She came to live with me some time later. She was originally placed in an orphanage as a ward of the state.” He rolled his shoulder and sank into the chair. 

“Is that when you were stabbed?” Hannibal asked. Will started, looking at him sharply before nodding. His hands continued to twitch and he pursed his lips before shaking his head in a way that was almost unnoticeable. Hannibal watched patiently, wondering if the medium would disclose whatever he was debating, but he said nothing more.

“I can’t imagine taking Abigail in was easy,” Hannibal commented. “Did you feel obligated to do so?” 

Will ran a hand through his hair. “In the end it was the only thing that made sense. Regardless of how painful the situation, we were left with a shared experience no one else understood.”

He was quiet, starring at the window. When he spoke again his voice was soft. “Almost no one knows. I doubt Jack would have given me the benefit of the doubt if he knew I stabbed a man to death.” 

“I’m grateful you chose to confide in me.”

“I should feel guilty,” Will said, though he appeared to be speaking more to himself.

“Implying you do not,” Hannibal said. “How do you feel about it?”

“It’s clear you were once a psychologist, Hannibal.” Will’s smile was amused but cold. He reminded Hannibal strongly of Bedelia in that moment; a calculating mind hidden behind a mask of politeness.

“I still am, to a select few.”

Finally turning away from the window, Will look at Hannibal, defiant. “Justified. Righteous. Powerful.” He added the last word softly and Hannibal felt the ghost of a shiver run down his spine. He smiled internally. 

“Are you reevaluating our friendship?” Will asked, sounding curious rather than vulnerable.

“I believe we reevaluated our friendship last night - to our mutual benefit.” 

Will laughed in response, his smile open and genuine. “You’re not at all what I expected when you first showed up at my table, Count Lecter.” 

“Likewise,” Hannibal said, returning the smile. “I hope one day you’ll feel comfortable telling me the rest of the story,” he added softly. 

“I would say the same for you,” Will rejoined, and Hannibal inclined his head in response. The medium sighed. “I should go soon, Hannibal. Abigail enjoys sleeping late, but she’ll have woken by now and will eventually wonder what’s become of me.”

Hannibal nodded, already feeling an acute sense of loss at the thought of Will leaving. “I’ll have my driver take you. Can I persuade you to indulge me in a fresh cup of coffee before you go?” 

Will nodded. As Hannibal stood to request fresh coffee from his staff Will also stood and reached out, catching the sleeve of his robe. He tugged, gently, pulling Hannibal to him. The kiss was greedy and Hannibal returned it in kind, before untying the sash of the robe and pushing Will down into the chair.

He sank down to his knees, parting Will’s legs and tracing fingers down his inner thighs. “Youthful virility indeed,” Hannibal quipped. 

“I wasn’t expecting anything other than a kiss.” Will moaned, breathless.

“Then allow me to surpass your expectations,” Hannibal said, swallowing him down. Having enjoyed this particular pleasure once already, he was especially attuned to Will’s responses. Though still vocal Will gave fewer directions the second time, and Hannibal hummed in pleasure at the realization. He concentrated on the increase in Will’s breathing and the pitch of the noises leaving him: lower as a change in sensation pleased him and creeping higher as his pleasure began to crest. 

Hannibal placed his hands on Will’s thighs, feeling the twitching of muscles. Will’s stomach muscles rippled and Hannibal pressed his arms underneath the other man’s legs and hips, cradling him to pull him closer and more fully into his mouth and throat. Will shuddered and cried out, a pleasantly bitter taste blooming on the back of Hannibal’s tongue as he swallowed greedily. 

“Hannibal,” Will crooned, reaching for him. Hannibal laughed and shook his head. 

“I’m not as young as you are,” he said. “Consider it a reminder of what awaits you when you return. Though I do hope you’ll still indulge me in the coffee.” 

Will merely nodded, his eyes closed and his robe open. Hannibal studied him. His lean limbs gave the impression of fragility, but his body was toned and muscular. Will had hidden depths of strength and clearly kept himself in good shape. Hannibal committed the image to memory; his body sunk down in the armchair, head leaned back, mouth slightly open. His torso was well defined, small tufts of hair around his nipples but almost invisible elsewhere until the hair began again beneath his navel, a trail of wiry curls leading to his phallus which rested soft and spent between his thighs, his long legs stretched lazily so that his heels sat on the floor. 

Hannibal committed the image to memory, tracing the lines of Will’s body with his eyes again and again, knowing he would commit the same image to paper after Will left. For the moment he continued to enjoy the man in the flesh, smiling softly as he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am, to be honest, kind of annoyed that it took me this long to write this chapter. For some reason it was really hard. Part of that was time constraints I didn't entirely expect to have, but part of it was simply that I had trouble getting the tone I wanted. But I think it's finally at a place where I am satisfied. 
> 
> So, some notes:  
> The shower seems like an incredibly common thing, right? It actually wasn't. Even though the concept of a shower has existed for a long time - a functioning shower was built back in the late 1700s - pumping and heating the water wasn't that easy and water had to be reused, so it made way more sense to bathe in a basin. Houses in large cities would generally have had indoor plumbing at this period, but a lot of rural areas didn't get it until the 1940s/1950s (some even later, I think, which just floors me.) Anyway, the clawfoot bathtub would have been incredibly common, but having a shower was something reserved for the wealthy. Although it did start getting pushed out to the general population in the 1920s, shortly after the time period for this fic. (A crazier statistic is that apparently in the UK that was more like the 1960s - although I didn't delve that deep into the history to know if that's accurate or not. And nowadays it seems like everyone has a shower, often forgoing the bathtub. How things change! lol).
> 
> Bathrooms from the early 1900s would have almost exclusively have been white, most of them tiled in the white subway tiles. That was largely a functional decision because during that era people thought dirt caused illness and white made it easier to see, and therefore clean, the dirt. Once again things changed in the 1920s and bathrooms started to get really colorful. 
> 
> Lithuania has existed in some form since the 1200s, but for a long time it was part of the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth, then it was annexed by the Russians and other neighboring countries (with Russia taking most of it). It declared its independence again in 1918, only to then be occupied again during WWII by the Soviet Union, then Nazi Germany and then when the war ended the Soviet Union again. Lithuania declared its independence again in 1990. Throughout all of that Lithuanians managed to retain a distinct identity and culture. They defied a lot of what their occupiers tried to enforce upon them by having secret Lithuanian schools, teaching language and culture. Honestly, that's pretty awesome. But I wanted to acknowledge the fact that, while I think it would have been accurate even in the early 1900s that Hannibal would have considered himself Lithuanian due to the strong cultural identity, Lithuania hadn't existed as an independent country for a couple centuries - until right around the time I set this fic.
> 
> Female police officers existed in the early 1900s but only a few of them and they typically worked for the women's bureau - meaning they worked exclusively with woman and children. (I reference that very briefly.)
> 
> The concept of a Cartesian Truth is a reference to the philosopher Descartes (the _cogito ergo sum_ \- I think therefore I am - guy.) He believed the mind existed separate from the body and the body could not think, but because the mind was trapped in the body physical sensations and perceptions clouded experience. Therefore we can never fully understand the true nature of something. So a Cartesian Truth would be something experienced without any lense of perception, as what actually happened and nothing more (ha, yeah right.)
> 
> Will refers to Hannibal as a psychologist versus a psychiatrist. The difference is an MD, and modern-era Will certainly knows the difference, and Hannibal is a psychiatrist. But I don't believe the distinction existed in this time period. I tried to figure out when the term psychiatry came into common use but in the end I wasn't clear, so I went with an indistinct memory from my psychology class in college. If I'm wrong, I apologize. 
> 
> Oh, and - finally - sorry for all the notes, you obviously don't have to read them all - the _piste_ is a fencing reference. It's the strip that the contests are on that marks the play area. I always think of their conversations in terms of fencing, where they're constantly deflecting each other while trying to make contact with the other person to get a point.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An outing, and more of Will and Abigail's back story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Work and life have been crazy and writing has been frustratingly slow for me recently. Though I do have more than this written, I pressed "pause", if you will, at what seemed like a good stopping point. 
> 
> At any rate, I'd apologize for how long it took to post this but I'm afraid it'll happen again so I'll paraphrase Hannibal and say I'll use my apologies sparingly. ;)

Rolling to his side, Hannibal buried his face in the spare pillow. He’d stripped the bed and changed the sheets himself, adding the dirty linens to the laundry - with the exception of the pillowcase Will had slept on. Despite his housekeeper’s frown at the omission, Hannibal expressly declined to have it laundered. He would still be able to smell them on the sheets, the scent existing beneath the detergent even after they were washed, but it would be faint and would not last. Will’s lingering scent on the pillow was strong and immediate. 

Before Will left, Hannibal had extracted a promise they would see each other again prior to the medium’s next séance. Will laughed at the suggestion they meet that evening for dinner. “Will you miss me that much, Count?” he’d asked coyly, though he eventually suggested a visit to the harbor Sunday afternoon. Hannibal smiled at the memory. 

The answer was yes. He would - did - miss the medium already, despite having woken next to him only the morning before. He was not unaware of the recklessness of it, his mind offering words of caution in Bedelia’s voice. The more time he spent with Will the more of himself he risked exposing, and exposing himself was dangerous. Hannibal had plenty of safeguards in place to protect his life in Baltimore, as well as contingency plans beyond. He did not wish to be exposed, but until recently he had not feared it. 

He had seen the darkness in the medium, had heard the man compliment the execution of his art. Will had killed - and had admitted he wanted to kill - if anyone could fully understand and accept him, it was his Will. But he was ever aware that there were no guarantees. It would be safer to end things with a pleasant memory. Pressing his face into the pillow once more he inhaled deeply. He didn’t want to end anything. 

After rising, he spent his morning writing out invitations to his dinner party. He’d determined to invite thirty people, resulting in eighteen invitations to write. He gave his butler seventeen to post; he would hand deliver the invitation to Will and Abigail himself when he collected them later. He smiled at the thought as he began to write out ideas for the menu. The morning passed with a pleasing speed and soon it was time for him to leave to meet the Grahams for their afternoon outing. 

As his driver pulled up to the home Abigail emerged, approaching the vehicle and greeting him politely. She must have been watching for his arrival. 

“Will asked me to apologize,” she said. “Mr. Crawford asked for his assistance this morning, but he’ll be back shortly. Can I offer you tea while we wait?” 

“That would be lovely, thank you Abigail,” Hannibal said politely, wondering what it was that Jack Crawford had pulled Will into this time. He would like it to be something of his Will had been pulled to view - he was incredibly curious to hear more of Will’s thoughts. It would be better still to witness Will’s initial reaction. He was certain there was a way to arrange for him to be present, but he would have to work to put some possibilities in motion. 

Whatever Will had been called to this morning was most certainly not his, however, as he had been rather preoccupied of late. And as much as he enjoyed and even longed for Will’s company, that would change in light of upcoming events. He wondered if it was something intriguing or if, like the man in the zoo, it had not been worth the medium’s time.

“He didn’t want to go,” Abigail said, breaking in on his thoughts as she led him through the house toward the kitchen. “But Mr. Crawford is quite persistent when he wishes to be.” 

Hannibal pictured the man he’d met briefly. The firm line of the jaw and the rigid set of his shoulders spoke of a man who did not abide foolishness. His eyes had been hard, his entire body tense and focused. It was clear that Jack Crawford did not easily accept ‘no’ as an answer. “I imagine that persistence allowed him to rise through the ranks of the police department.” 

She set the kettle to boil and turning to pin Hannibal with the piercing look she and Will so often shared. “You sound as though you admire it.”

He considered her statement. Although he had not been impressed with the man when they met, he had to admit that persistence to achieve a goal was something he admired. “Perhaps. Though I don’t appreciate him using your guardian to satisfy his whims. But I find admiration and appreciation are more disparate concepts than most would have you believe.” 

Abigail’s lips curled in amusement. “You appear to have both when it comes to my guardian.” 

Hannibal stilled momentarily, taking in her stance and expression. She was open and relaxed, but her eyes were guarded. He chuckled softly. “You are every bit as protective of him as he is of you.”

She tilted her head, quiet for a moment, as behind her the kettle began to whistle softly. It was copper, Hannibal noted, and looked old and well-used. He wondered if it had belonged to Will’s grandmother as the chest had. Abigail pulled it from the stove, pouring water into a floral patterned teapot to allow the tea to steep and arranging matching cups, saucers, sugar and cream on a tray. It must have been the grandmothers. He’d noticed it the first time he was served tea, but knowing the Grahams better now he doubted the floral pattern was to Will’s - or even Abigail’s - taste. 

Wordlessly she lifted the tray, indicating they should move to the sitting room. Hannibal followed. They seated themselves together on the couch, Abigail pouring tea for them both and adding the precise amount of cream Hannibal had indicated during his initial visit. 

“We’ve had only each other to rely on for some time,” Abigail commented as she placed Hannibal’s tea in front of him. Her words echoed what Will had said a few nights prior, but her expression softened as she looked up. “Don’t mistake me, Count. He is happier when he spends time with you and that pleases me.”

“I feel similarly,” Hannibal said honestly. Days without Will were cold and pale in comparison. Abigail’s smile was a soft, pleased thing - though there was an element of nervousness behind it. 

She sipped her tea. “Will said he told you.” Her face was carefully calm and her movements were confident, but anxiety was evident in her eyes. 

“He told me some,” Hannibal said with equal caution. “Not everything.” 

Abigail exhaled slowly, much as Will did when attempting to calm himself. Hannibal smiled into his tea. Catching his amusement she raised an eyebrow - again, mimicking her guardian. 

“At times you and he are so similar I still wonder if you aren’t somehow related,” Hannibal explained. 

Abigail laughed lightly, anxiety momentarily overcome by amusement. “People can’t determine whether he’s my husband, father, brother, or some other relation.”

“I wondered myself when I first met you.”

She ran her fingers across the table, tracing the grain of the wood. “What was your thought?” She looked at him curiously, studying his face. 

Again Hannibal answered honestly. “I thought you were likely too old to be his daughter, though you are certainly young enough to be mine. I considered the possibility that you were a much younger sister, or perhaps a niece or cousin.”

Abigail leaned back, allowing herself to settle into the curves of the couch, holding her teacup carefully. The dark green of her skirt contrasted nicely with the light green of the upholstery. Blue eyes looked at him appraisingly. “It used to bother me when people thought he was my father.”

Hannibal inclined his head, considering her. “I can imagine it would be difficult to have the man who took away your father mistaken for the same.” She didn’t visibly react to the statement, continuing to sip her tea slowly.

“When I was still a ward of the state, I told Will that he didn’t get to take my father away and then replace him.” She blew slowly across the top of the liquid, though it did not need cooling, her eyes flicking to his quickly before focusing back on her cup. “It was some time before he came to visit again after I said that.”

“How long were you a ward of the state?” Hannibal asked. 

“Nearly a year.”

He nodded, surprised. Time for paperwork and handling legalities was expected. Indeed, Will himself had commented that Abigail had become his ward some time later. Nonetheless, Hannibal had not anticipated that significant a length of time. He was reminded of Will’s comment regarding the truth being an onion and wondered with amusement and frustration how many layers there were to this particular story. And if he would ever have the opportunity to see them all. 

“Did Will tell you his father was a drunk?” Abigail asked, eventually. 

“In passing,” Hannibal said. He wasn’t certain why she mentioned it, but finding unseen connections between thoughts was another trait Will and Abigail had in common. It made conversation with them intriguing. He was rather fond of the young lady seated next to him, he realized.

“Will would have to retrieve him from the police station frequently after we first moved here,” Abigail said. “But one night he didn’t come home and there was no call. Will went to the station, but he wasn’t there. They found him the following morning. Will never told me exactly what happened.” She wound both hands around her teacup, threading her fingers together and clutching it tightly. When she spoke again, her voice was quiet. “My father loved me, but in a particular way and with specific expectations. I was sorry when he died. But I was also relieved. I thought there was something wrong with me, but then Will’s father passed.”

“And you saw Will’s relief at that,” Hannibal said, keeping his voice gentle. “Loss is sometimes an unburdening.” 

She smiled. “That’s almost exactly what Will said to me.” He suspected she would have said more, but instead they were interrupted by the sound of the front door opening and closing and a coat being hung in the foyer. Abigail set down her teacup, her face breaking into a wide and genuine smile. Hannibal felt an answering warmth spread through his chest as Will appeared in the entrance to the sitting room. 

“I apologize for my tardiness,” he said. He was dressed casually in dark slacks, the blue of his sweater highlighting the vivid color of his eyes. His hair was slightly more wild than usual, pleasantly mussed by the wind. Hannibal stood but found himself gripped with a sudden uncertainty. His fingers twitched with the urge to reach out, pull Will near and run his hands through those windswept curls. He felt the phantom sensation of every kiss they shared during their night together move across his lips as he watched Will’s mouth curve into a smile. He shifted toward the other man slightly, wanting to kiss him in greeting but wondering what would be appropriate in front of Abigail. 

Will’s cheeks were red from the cold he’d just escaped. His eyes, though sharpened from the same chill, danced with amusement as his smile widened further. Will moved across the space in three long strides, stopping immediately in front of Hannibal, a fond, teasing expression on his face. 

“Hannibal. How’s your lip?” His voice held a sultry note that Hannibal felt from chest to toes. He thought he must be shaking from anticipation and the utter uncertainty of what was to happen next. Will’s eyes shut, dark lashes fluttering against rosy skin, and then his lips were on Hannibal’s. They were cool and slightly rough, having been chapped by the cold, but warmed quickly as he sighed into the kiss. He ran a hand through Will’s hair, separating the unruly strands between his fingers.

It was a gentle, chaste kiss but must have lingered a fraction too long, as Abigail cleared her throat. “I might remind you I am also here, although I can take my leave if you’d prefer,” she quipped, though from her tone it was clear she was amused rather than offended. Will laughed pleasantly in response.

“How was your morning?” he asked, taking Hannibal’s hand as he turned to face her. Hannibal curled his fingers tightly around Will's, momentarily unable to focus on anything other than the feel of their joined hands. 

“Rather more pleasant than yours, I imagine,” Abigail said. “What did Mr. Crawford want from you this time?”

Will shrugged. “You know I can’t talk about it.” 

“Shouldn’t, you mean,” Abigail corrected, her tone once again teasing, but with a more serious undercurrent. 

“Shouldn’t,” he acquiesced. “And won’t, as we have a pleasant afternoon in front of us."

“Are you certain you want to go to the harbor?” Hannibal asked. “It’s quite a cold day.” He ran the fingertips of his free hand across Will’s cheek, pleased at the way Will leaned into the touch. 

“All the more reason to walk,” Will said, “as it will warm us.” 

Abigail gifted Hannibal with a rather pointed look. “I’ve debated this with Will on a number of occasions. He believes outdoor exercise and fresh air to be invaluable, regardless of the temperature.” 

Will laughed. “But it is important, Abs. And won’t it be lovely to walk together by the water?”

Abigail’s exaggerated sigh as she collected the teacups was her only comment, though Hannibal could see the smile she attempted to hide. He took advantage of her move to the kitchen to pull Will close, kissing him deeply and thoroughly. 

“I missed you,” he said.

“Hannibal,” Will breathed against him, laughing lightly. “It hasn’t even been a full two days.”

Will reach up to brush a few strands of hair from Hannibal’s forehead, looking at him intently for a moment before dropping his gaze. “I missed you too,” he said softly, folding himself into Hannibal’s embrace and sighing in pleasure. They lingered together until they heard Abigail’s footsteps in the hall, separating to join her. 

During the ride to the harbor Hannibal once again suggested Abigail sit up front. Will gave him a soft smile, climbing into the backseat. 

“Federal Hill?” Hannibal asked. “Or did you want to walk along the waterfront of the inner harbor?”

“Federal Hill, I think,” Will said. “Though I enjoy the docks, personally, it has the better view.”

Hannibal nodded to his driver who, with a quick “yes, sir,” pulled away from the curb. Placing his hand on Will’s knee, he shifted himself closer. Will stiffened, casting a worried glance to the driver. 

“You worry too much,” Hannibal said softly. Turning to speak directly into Will’s ear, he whispered his reassurance. “I told you my staff were hired for their discretion. They are also quite well-compensated for their silence regarding my personal affairs.” That seemed to soothe Will, and he relaxed into the seat - and Hannibal. And what a pleasure it was to feel him, pressed ever so slightly against Hannibal’s side, warm and solid. 

“You mentioned you’ve been here three years,” Hannibal said as they were coming up on City Hall. “I take it that you were not here for the Star Spangled Banner Centennial.” Will shook his head. 

“We did find a pamphlet from the celebration in the attic,” Abigail commented. “Will’s father must have kept it.”

“It’s a pity,” Hannibal said. “City Hall’s dome was illuminated. It was quite an impressive site.”

“A beacon of light to the world,” Will murmured. 

“City Hall already looks like someone’s palace,” Abigail said in wonder. “I can’t imagine the added effect of the illumination.” She and Will both looked at the building as they rode past. It was a rather imposing presence constructed in the French Renaissance Revival style; complete with Mansard roofs, intricate dormer windows, white marble facings on the exterior walls and the columns ever-present as part of the Baroque revival.

“At the time of its construction the dome was one of the largest structures of its type in the world,” Hannibal said. Will was silent, watching as the building shrank behind them, and Hannibal longed to know what he was thinking. He didn’t appear inclined to share his thoughts, though he did give Hannibal a small smile and shift ever so slightly closer.

As they exited the highway and pulled in to Federal Hill Park Hannibal lingered before exiting the motorcar, enjoying the feel of Will at his side. His driver gave him a questioning look but made no comment, instead moving to open Abigail’s door and help her down. Hannibal exited reluctantly, Will following immediately after. 

The weather had cooled further and the wind traveling over the water was punishing. Despite the fact that his jacket was quite warm, Hannibal found himself attempting to pull it tighter. He glanced to Abigail, who was adjusting her hat. She gave him a knowing look. Will appeared elated, however, the wind creating a blush on his cheeks and his eyes bright with cold and excitement. He grinned into the wind and began ascending the hill. 

Abigail looped her arm through Hannibal’s as they followed. “Will has been exceptionally good to me,” she said. “But I simply do not understand why he enjoys this. We could be home playing Pirate and Traveler. Or cards. Or he could finally teach me chess.”

“I’ve always found chess to be quite stimulating,” Hannibal said. 

Abigail hummed. “Perhaps you could teach me instead. Will’s not one to break promises but that seems to be one he can’t keep. I think it holds bad memories for him.”

“Why do you think that?” Hannibal asked, his eyes trailing Will’s figure as he rapidly ascended the hill. Federal Hill was not excessively tall or steep by Hannibal’s standards, but while he and Abigail were ascending it leisurely Will appeared to be singularly focused on reaching the apex. 

“Did he tell you about Beverly?” she asked. “She was a close friend of his on the force.” 

“The one your father killed,” Hannibal said, making the connection. “He did not mention her name.” 

“They used to play chess,” Abigail said. “She was the only person who could beat him. Well - according to him.” She smiled sadly. 

Hannibal felt an odd pain in his chest as he watched the determined figure in front of him, journeying up the hill alone. But as he continued watching, Will reached the top and paused. His entire body relaxed, head tilted slightly back as the wind swept over him, tousling the hair he’d neglected to cover with a hat. He turned to look at them and his smile was all teeth; feral and beautiful. 

“I’m not ashamed of it,” Abigail said suddenly and with force. Hannibal looked at her in genuine surprise. Her blue eyes were fierce, but unlike Will’s, which turned a steely grey in anger, hers were a brighter, more vivid blue. If Will was stormy seas and carefully hidden danger, Abigail burned brightly, open and focused in her intensity. “Will forgave me.” 

Hannibal considered several responses. Certainly her association with her father was something she had no control over, therefore the likeliest possibility was that she had assisted him in some way. He rolled that over in his mind, wondering if she felt genuine guilt over it. Or if, like Will, was she aware of the absence of guilt where she had been told it should exist. 

“You assisted him in quarrying his victims?” Hannibal asked, opting to be blunt. Abigail’s eyes widened incrementally. She didn’t answer, but instead turned on her heel and began marching up the hill at a speed that rivaled Will’s. For a long moment Hannibal merely looked after her; her emerald skirts billowing behind her as she strode up the grass, hands shoved forcefully into the pockets of her dark blue coat, shoulders hunched in an attempt to steel herself against the wind. She reached the top and, while Hannibal was regrettably unable to hear the conversation, from her posture it was clear that whatever she said to Will was said in frustration. 

Hannibal resumed walking, wondering how the Grahams managed to surprise him so frequently. Whenever he spent time with them the ground beneath him shifted, throwing him subtly off balance. He imagined the hill sinking incrementally into the caverns beneath - holes bored through the earth as the red clay of the bluff was mined and left behind; the hidden veins weakening the structure above. The more he concentrated on the feeling of sinking the more he felt it. It was thrilling to be so disconcerted. 

As he approached the figures above him he could see Will soothing Abigail and watched as she responded, eventually folding into his embrace. It struck him that they were not often physically affectionate - at least, not in his presence. Watching them now he realized the most he had seen them touch was when they walked arm and arm into the concert. 

Perhaps he could take them to the Opera. They would both look spectacular in the current finery and he already knew he would enjoy their company immensely. He longed to watch Will experience another such event. The flush that had crept over his body and the slight tremor of his limbs was intoxicating. He brushed the thought aside as something to return to later. They ended their embrace as he reached them, Abigail looking considerably less flustered. 

“I apologize for barging ahead, Count,” she said. 

“As do I,” Will added, though his smile was so unguarded it was arguably apology enough. “We don’t come here often, but I do love the view.” 

Hannibal looked out over the basin. There was a lone ship in the harbor. Beyond that were tightly buildings with windows peering out over the water, a thick pillar of dark smoke whose origin he couldn’t distinguish, and far in the distance the spire of the Washington Monument. It was the image of a crowded, quickly growing city, but there was also a peculiar vacancy to it due to the chill in the air. An area that would normally be full of people was quiet. Even they were the only visitors foolish enough to be at Federal Hill on such an unconscionably cold day. Hannibal took a deep breath in through his nose. There was a good chance of snow later in the day, despite how early it was in the season. 

Hannibal was not fond of snow. Thankfully, though snow was not entirely unexpected in Baltimore, its occurrence was infrequent enough that it was remarked on with surprise and there was generally not a great deal of it. Though there had been some notable exceptions during his time in the city.

Taking advantage of their solitude, Hannibal dared to curve an arm around Will’s waist and pull him close. To Hannibal’s surprise, he didn’t resist, instead pulling Abigail to him. They might have looked like a family to an outsider. Siblings and their uncle, perhaps, to someone unaware; huddled together for warmth and looking out over the harbor. Eventually Abigail broke away, meandering along the walkway and staring out over the water. 

Instead of pulling away as Hannibal expected, Will leaned in, pressing himself more closely to Hannibal’s chest. 

“You wanted to come on a cold day so we would be alone,” Hannibal said. He felt rather than saw Will’s smile. 

“I wasn’t aware it would be quit this cold,” he said. “Or this solitary.” He pulled back suddenly, and Hannibal could hear footsteps in the distance. “Not solitary enough,” Will mumbled.

The other visitor was a lone gentlemen who tipped his fedora at them in greeting. Hannibal removed his own hat and Will inclined his head. For a moment, the man appeared about to exchange pleasantries. He chose not to, for which Hannibal was grateful and Will appeared to be even more grateful. The medium exhaled slowly, looking at Hannibal. 

“Are you ever truly alone, Will?” Hannibal asked. Will looked at him curiously. “This park has twice been used as a military installation.”

Will made an amused noise. “You’re surprised the dead are not louder?” he asked, looking back out over the harbor as the man walked on the hill below, but nonetheless raising an eyebrow in Hannibal’s direction. They were both, Hannibal thought, keeping an eye on the interloper and hoping for the renewed opportunity for closeness.

“When we first met I told you they rarely speak,” he said quietly. “Typically the longer they have been dead the harder they are to hear. The dead are not restless, only the living.” He hunched his shoulders, eyes now clearly following the man rather than looking out over the water. “You haven’t asked about your sister recently,” he commented. 

“I assume you would inform me if there were anything to share,” Hannibal said. In truth he found Mischa had not been at the forefront of this thoughts in quite some time, though he was curious about the lullaby Abigail had been humming. “Are you always aware when they speak to you, Will?”

“Do I hear the dead in my dreams?” Will turned to look at him, only his eyes betraying his amusement. 

“Perhaps not precisely that, but Abigail has been humming a lullaby I recognize from my youth. One she heard from you.”

Will looked surprised at that. “A lullaby?” Hannibal nodded, humming the song and watching as Will’s face changed in recognition. “That’s where I heard it,” he said softly. He glanced away from Hannibal and closed his eyes as a gust of wind swept over them. The smell of snow was growing stronger. It was no longer a possibility but an inevitability. He hoped it would hold off long enough that he did not have to cut his time with Will short to make the trip home safely. Though, in truth, the idea of the roads being unsafe - of being gifted an excuse to remain in the Graham home for the night - was an entirely pleasant one. 

_Hannibal Lecter, you old fool._ Bedelia’s voice echoed in his head. He watched Will as the medium’s eyes remained closed and his face tilted back in the wind. He appeared to enjoy the air moving around him immensely, and Hannibal wondered what memories it conjured. Will’s cheeks were ruddy with cold, bright red against his otherwise pale skin. His hair had grown since they’d first met and the curls at the nape of his neck lifted slightly away from his body with the breeze. Even in the layers he’d added as protection against the cold his slight build was apparent, but it belied a strength and firmness which Hannibal had witnessed firsthand and hoped to experience again quite soon. 

Perhaps he was beguiled, as Bedelia had said. It was entirely foolish of him, but instead of any trepidation all he felt was warmth at the acknowledgment. 

“Being on the water with my father,” Will said, opening his eyes and laughing at Hannibal’s surprise. “You were wondering what I was remembering - or am I mistaken?” 

“You are not,” Hannibal acknowledged. 

“You are becoming easier to understand with time, Count,” Will said wryly. “If you do not wish me to learn all your secrets you may want to reconsider our liaison.” 

“Sometimes I wonder if you already know them,” Hannibal said quietly. _Hopefully._ His chest tightened and he inhaled sharply. 

Will shifted closer. “All of us have parts of ourselves that we hide from the world.” His eyes moved to Abigail, who had positioned herself further down the grassy knoll and was looking out over the harbor. “She wasn’t referring to the assistance she provided her father when she said I forgave her.”

It was a tacit confirmation that Abigail had been in some way involved in her father’s crimes, which intrigued him immensely. He wondered if she’d been compelled through fear or if she’d enjoyed the hunt. Or perhaps both. 

Will sighed. “She’s the one who stabbed me, not her father.” 

“I - would not have guessed that,” Hannibal admitted, though thinking back he acknowledged he should at least have considered the possibility. 

“Abigail and I often debate whose story it is to tell. She stabbed me. I killed her father. I saved her life. She made mine both fuller and decidedly more complicated. I would rather she informed you, to be honest, though neither of us enjoy speaking about it. I understood why she did it even then, and I think it would unburden her to tell her tale.” His eyes flicked to her again. “But she is currently sparing herself and leaving it to me to provide the sordid details.” He ran a hand through his hair. 

“You can tell me anything, Will,” Hannibal said with genuine earnestness. 

“I’m beginning to realize that.” Will took Hannibal’s hand in his own and moved closer, pressing himself to Hannibal’s side. “Abigail’s father killed girls who looked like her because he thought they were demons trying to replace her. He’d been keeping Abigail and her mother in the home, telling them the town was dangerous. He told Abigail I was there to take her away. She had to protect herself.”

“And she protected herself by stabbing you.”

“In the back, no less,” Will said with a half smile. Hannibal was certain he detected a hint of pride. “She took me by surprise.” 

Abigail was watching them from the other side of the park. Will waved her over. She hesitated, but began to walk back toward them. 

“You used that knife to kill her father,” Hannibal said. 

“Only after he slit his wife’s throat and turned his knife on Abigail,” he said, stiffening. 

“Is that how Abigail got her scar?” Hannibal asked, watching her approach. She was moving slowly, clearly taking her time to reach them.

Will shook his head. “I can’t tell you all our secrets, can I?” his tone was teasing but there was an underlying tension. “We’d cease to be interesting to you.” 

Hannibal gripped his hand more tightly. “I believe I’ve already told you that wouldn’t be possible.”

Will gave him an amused look at that, but his expression once again became serious before he continued. “I yelled at him to leave her alone, and to my great surprise he did. He hadn’t hesitated with his wife. Cut her practically the moment I realized what was happening. But with Abigail, it was different. When I shouted he came after me instead. I pulled the knife out of my back and I stabbed him. Nineteen times. The official report had fewer stab wounds, but it’s inaccurate. When I finally realized he was dead and dropped the knife, I realized I’d been counting.” With his free hand, he gripped his hair and tugged before rolling his shoulders. 

“Nineteen,” Hannibal repeated. More strikes than necessary to kill a man, though the speed and certainty of death did depend on the locations of the wounds. A quick death suggested a stab wound to the heart or perhaps an artery. Hannibal imagined Will stabbing a man in the heart: a forceful thrust through the chest, perhaps nicking the bone of the protective ribcage, and piercing the delicate organ beyond. It would have to be a good knife.

“My anger took over due to my connection to Beverly, my friend that he killed,” he explained. “At least, that was the story. But I wasn’t thinking of her when I did it. I was never asked to leave the force. The police look after their own, and everyone agreed he deserved the end he received. I left anyway.”

“Why?” Hannibal asked. 

“There were a few reasons, but one was Abigail’s mother,” Will said. “She kept telling me to look after her daughter. It’s why I started visiting Abigail in the first place.” They were silent a few moments before Will leaned in closer, his breath tickling against Hannibal’s ear. “I believe it’s your turn to divulge a secret, Count, though we can leave it for a more intimate circumstance.” Hannibal shuddered involuntarily.

“I understand there used to be an observatory tower here,” Will commented, changing topics smoothly as Abigail finally drew close. 

“Used to signal to ships, but felled by a fierce wind some years after I arrived here,” Hannibal supplied. 

“Better that it’s not, then,” Abigail said, her voice unsteady. “Will would have climbed it, and I would hate to see him go down with it.” Hannibal granted her a a smile and saw some of the tension leave her, though she still looked at Will in a wordless plea to leave and he nodded. 

“Will you allow me to cook for you, Hannibal?” Will asked. “The market is most likely closed but I know at least one fisherman who will still be willing to sell me some of his catch if you don’t mind a slight detour.” 

“I should like nothing more,” Hannibal said, gesturing for them to walk ahead. 

_If you do not wish me to learn all your secrets you may want to reconsider our liaison._ It had been something of a tease, of course, and he doubted Will understood the full impact of those words. He would indeed be wise to reconsider, but watching his lover walk away he knew he could not give him up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun historical notes! It seems like a lot more people read them than I realized, and I'm glad you all like them!
> 
> Pirate and Traveler is an old board game, originally published in 1911. There weren't a lot of board games in the early 1900s; mostly people would play cards, chess, or checkers/draughts. (I worked in Colonial Williamsburg as a kid and I'm actually used to calling checkers draughts for that reason, but that's apparently the British term? Who knew. Well - probably anyone British lol.) Anyway, Pirate and Traveler was revised a few times into the 1970s, after which it was discontinued. It's considered a vintage collectable now. 
> 
> Baltimore City Hall is an ornate and imposing building and it does remind me of someone's summer palace. And the dome really was lit up during the Star Spangled Banner Centennial in 1914. Incidentally, the Maryland Historical Society has a discontinued (I'm assuming - it hasn't been updated in 6 years) tumblr with some cool old photographs of Baltimore [here](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/mdhsphotographs), including one of the illuminated dome. Also, the pamphlet can be [viewed online](https://archive.org/stream/nationalstarspan02nati#page/n7/mode/1up) in all it's nearly 300 pages of glory, most of which is (deserved) propaganda for Baltimore and how awesome it was. 
> 
> A side note on City Hall. It was built in the late 1800s and is still in use. In fact, the city opted to spend a lot of money to renovate it rather than build a new one, which is kind of cool. But before that happened it got pretty run down and in 1959 part of it fell 150 feet into one of the hearing rooms. I feel like Hannibal would have approved. 
> 
> Federal Hill Park was also created in the late 1800s. Before that it was, as Hannibal mentioned, red clay bluffs and it was mined for that clay. So, while Hannibal's comments about sinking are obviously metaphorical, Federal Hill Park really is sinking because the ground beneath it is structurally unsound. Or was - that's another place where the city spent a considerable amount of money to shore it up and protect the park above. The neighborhood of Federal Hill didn't exist as such until much later, but the view from the hill has always been notable. 
> 
> Federal Hill was used for military purposes in both the War of 1812 and the US Civil War. During the War of 1812 a battery was built in anticipation of an attack by sea from the British. There are two statues (one originally there and one moved later) in the park that commemorate the victory of the Battle of Baltimore during that war against the British Royal Navy. It's interesting to me because even though I grew up mostly in Virgina, Maryland's neighbor to the south, we barely learned about the War of 1812 in school and I tend to forget it even happened. At any rate. 
> 
> During the Civil War Federal Hill was occupied by the Massachusetts militia and a fort erected. It was actually done to ensure the city and state's allegiance to the North during that war. Maryland's uncertain allegiances during that period were never touched on in my history classes either. 
> 
> The observatory was originally constructed at the end of the 1700s. Flags would be used to signal the imminent arrival of a merchant vessel. In the late 1800s a newer, Victorian tower replaced it, but that tower was blown over by a strong wind in 1902. So really, it can't have been very structurally secure ;) (Although Maryland can get some strong winds, as can any coastal city. Hurricanes don't normally travel up that high, but it's also not impossible. So I suppose I could give it the benefit of the doubt.)
> 
> I think that's all my history notes for now . . . if you read these and have any questions, or if there's anything historical I didn't explain I'm always happy to give more info. Like I've said before this isn't meticulously researched - I'm largely relying on things I've read previously, what I DID learn in history classes or from museums etc, and a variety of google searches. But I have found some fun things from historical societies online. :) 
> 
> As always, thanks for reading. I really hope it won't take me as long for the next update.
> 
> In the meantime if anyone wants to say hello and or bug me, I'm on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/dovesummer) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/dovesummer1). I'm kind of sporadic on both of them (and they're not Hannibal fan accounts, just me being random) but I occasionally comment about my writing on tumblr. So feel free to tell me to write faster lol. (Sometimes it does help.)


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snow begins to fall during dinner so Hannibal stays overnight. Naturally, smut ensues. It's not entirely devoid of plot-building, but this chapter is definitely NSFW.
> 
> Hannibal is also prone to dark thoughts - as a warning there are some at the end of the chapter that could be concerning. I mean, it's Hannibal, but I would much rather over-warn than have anyone be surprised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something that should have been in my notes at the end of the last chapter, but just as clarification the Washington Monument is not the one in DC. A lot of people don't know that there is also one in Baltimore. In fact, it was there first. It was also designed by the same guy who designed the one in DC, so they look very similar. But you can't see the DC one from Federal Hill Park. ;)

Though he was still concerned about the coming snow, Hannibal sent his driver home to rest with instructions to wait on his call for a return trip. Will raised an eyebrow and smirked slightly, but didn’t comment. Neither did Hannibal. He was still becoming accustomed to his concession, though he was reluctantly admitting it might occasionally be useful. 

Will had indeed managed to find a fisherman willing to sell some of his catch of smallmouth bass, which Will cleaned and filleted expertly, then coated in cornmeal and breadcrumbs and panfried with squash. He’d declined any assistance, so Hannibal and Abigail sipped a white wine and kept watch. Will was fluid and comfortable in the kitchen in a way Hannibal hadn’t entirely expected. It was clear that he enjoyed cooking. 

“I told you he was good at this,” Abigail said, leaning toward Hannibal. She spoke quietly but it was obvious from Will’s amused expression that he’d heard. 

“He is indeed,” Hannibal agreed. He leaned closed to her, speaking softly and conspiratorially. “I shall have to come up with something equally impressive for the next dinner I host. Perhaps you can assist me?” 

Will snorted at that, causing Abigail to laugh. She relaxed in her amusement, the last of the tension she’d held since Federal Hill releasing. 

“I’d love to,” she said, tucking her hair behind her ear. Immediately after lowering her hand she reached back up to untuck it, but Hannibal touched her wrist lightly before she did. She stilled momentarily. 

“Scars remind us of what we’ve survived,” he said kindly. “There’s no need to be ashamed of yours.”

Abigail untucked her hair anyway, covering the scar from view once again and shaking her head. “I don’t hide it out of shame,” she said. “It’s simply another story I’d rather not tell.” She looked at Will as he approached the table. 

“I won’t tell it for you,” he said gently. “You will either decide to share it or you won’t.”

Abigail scowled at him. “It involves you,” she said. 

“Of course it does. But that does not make it mine to tell.” He clapped his hands together. “Now, shall we move to the dining room or would you prefer to eat in the kitchen again?” 

“I’ll set the table in the dining room,” Abigail offered. 

Hannibal filled Will’s wine glass as they settled for dinner. It was not Hannibal’s typical fare but it suited Will and the household. But it had been cooked to perfection and he was quick to provide the chef with his compliments. 

“It’s nothing like the dishes you make,” Will brushed aside the praise. Abigail had placed him at the head of the table, seating herself to his left and Hannibal to his right. 

“I don’t often cook fish, no,” Hannibal said. He placed a hand on Will’s thigh, griping his leg and squeezing gently, enjoying the slight flush on Will’s face in response. Across from him Abigail grinned, though her expression suddenly shifted. 

“Oh dear,” she said, looking out the window. Will said nothing, but raised an eyebrow. “Snow,” Abigail explained. 

It had finally happened. Hannibal was thrilled: the timing could not have been better. Will stood and he followed, both of them moving to the window. The snow was falling heavily and a fair amount of it was sticking to the ground. It would melt in the morning - it wasn’t yet cold enough to remain once the sun rose - but it would accumulate overnight and the roads would soon be unfit for travel.

“It’s so early in the year,” Will said. He looked at Hannibal. “The roads will be bad.” 

“Yes,” Hannibal agreed. “I should have my driver return before they worsen.” 

Abigail looked at Will. “That seems dangerous,” she said. 

Will nodded. “Please stay with us tonight, Hannibal,” he said, unable to entirely suppress a grin. “On account of the weather.” 

“I shall still need to call home, to be certain he does not attempt to collect me.” 

“Our phone in is the hall, “ Abigail said. “Allow me to show you.” She stood and Hannibal followed. He glanced back as they exited the dining room. Will had moved to the table and was looking into his wineglass, and undeniably pleased expression on his face. Hannibal smiled at the sight. 

“I am guessing you don’t intend to stay in our guest room,” Abigail said, regaining his attention. Hannibal didn’t respond. He traced the slight movements of her hair as he followed her through the hallway, considering Will’s comment that she made his life both fuller and more complicated. She paused before he could follow that thread of thought further, gesturing to the phone mounted on the wall and looking at him expectantly.

“Why wouldn’t I?” he asked. 

“There’s no bed. But don’t worry - I’m certain Will will make arrangements for you.” 

Hannibal said nothing, keeping his face impassive and lifting the receiver. Her eyes danced as he dialed the exchange for his home. She stepped back politely, allowing him space but remaining close enough to hear his side of the conversation. His butler answered. 

“Good evening, Donald,” Hannibal said. “I’ll be staying overnight at the Graham’s on account of the weather.” 

“Probably wise, sir,” Donald agreed. Hannibal pictured the slight downward tilt of his head as he said it. “Shall we expect a call in the morning to collect you?” 

“Yes,” Hannibal said. “I’ll keep an eye on the weather and contact you in the morning when the roads are safe.” Hanging up, he eyed Abigail who was studying her hands intently. 

“So, your staff have names,” she said. 

“Of course they have names,” Hannibal responded. Abigail smiled but said nothing, instead returning to the dining room. Despite the brevity of the conversation, Will had cleared the table and moved back to the window in their absence. He appeared transfixed by the snowfall outside. Hannibal and Abigail moved to flank him and Will spread his arms to pull the two of them close. 

Hannibal was mildly surprised to find he enjoyed the thought of Will as the head of their trio; he and Abigail supporting him on either side. They spent a few moments watching the snow before Abigail yawned and announced she was going to bed. 

Will released Hannibal to pull her close, murmuring something into her hair that sounded French but that Hannibal didn’t quite recognize. He wondered if they routinely hugged before retiring - it was only the second time he’d seen them embrace. Perhaps the Grahams were simply adverse to displaying their affection in front of others, in which case Hannibal felt fortunate to witness their closeness. 

“I still want you to teach me chess, Count Lecter,” Abigail said with a smile. “Perhaps next time.” 

“It would be my honor,” Hannibal said with genuine pleasure. He looked to Will, whose expression was twisted somewhere between pleasure and pain. “Would you rather I didn’t?” he asked quietly as Abigail left. 

Will said nothing but shook his head, tucking himself to Hannibal’s side as they continued to watch the snowfall through the window. Hannibal draped an arm around his lover’s shoulders. “She told me about Beverly,” he said. 

“I told you about Beverly,” Will corrected, wriggling closer. 

Kissing the top of Will’s head, Hannibal spoke into his curls. “Only in passing and not by name.”

“It’s hard for me to talk about her,” he sighed. “I have never had many close friends, and she was very dear to me.” They were quiet for some time, leaning into each other companionably, before he added “I still talk to her sometimes.”

“Does she speak to you?” Hannibal asked, genuinely curious. He felt Will’s shrug against his side at the same time the movement of Will’s shoulders raised his arm. 

“From time to time she does,” he said softly. “I spoke to her about you.” 

Hannibal tightened his grip around Will’s shoulders. “Did you?”

“Beverly always encouraged me to be myself and to pursue the things I desired. I’ve learned to listen to her more closely now that she speaks to me less often.”

“Then I am immensely grateful to her.”

Will chuckled softly. “As am I.” He turned slightly, just enough to grip Hannibal’s tie with his left hand, tugging on it gently. “You’re always so formal, Count Lecter,” he said. “I want nothing more than to remove your layers and expose the man beneath.” 

Hannibal shivered at the words. Once again he did not believe Will suspected the deeper truth to them, but the idea of being bared to him was still intoxicating. And impossible. And yet - 

“I enjoy being exposed to you,” he said, lowering his voice suggestively.

“Did you plan this?” Will asked. He turned more fully and looked at Hannibal intently, pupils dilating as their eyes met. 

“I don’t control the weather,” Hannibal said with a wry smile. 

“You knew, somehow,” Will said. His voice was soft and breathless. “You sensed it.” 

“Smelled it,” Hannibal allowed. “I have a very sensitive sense of smell. Though I did not know when it would arrive. The timing is fortuitous, but merely a coincidence.” 

Will hummed softly. “But you hoped for it - did you not?”

Before Hannibal could respond Will tightened his grip on Hannibal’s tie, pulling him into a chaste kiss. Will’s tongue pressed against his lips, encouraging them to open - encouragement that was entirely unneeded as Hannibal pressed back, raking his tongue across Will’s teeth and the roof of his mouth. The kiss deepened until Will pulled back, flushed and panting. 

“Bed,” he said. It wasn’t a question. He took Hannibal’s hand and led him back down the hall to the staircase, pausing at the base of the stairs and then again on the landing, suspended halfway between the ground floor and the upper. It was a brief but deliberate pause each time, and Hannibal wondered at the reason. He didn’t ask and Will didn’t offer an explanation, though on the landing he appeared to be listening for - or perhaps to - something. 

Reaching the top of the stairs, Will moved more deliberately and Hannibal caught only a cursory glimpse at the upper floor. There was a window at the end of the hallway, allowing moonlight to shine into the home. There was a door almost immediately to the right of the stairs and another further down, then two doors on the opposite side of the hall. 

Will led him to the left, to a door facing the window. He paused at the door as he had at the base of the stairs and on the landing. Hannibal looked at him questioningly this time, but Will merely smiled. If Hannibal had expected trepidation that was not what he saw in Will’s face - instead, there was a pleased contentment. Stepping into Will’s room Hannibal was struck by an intimacy so intense that for a moment he felt as though he were an intruder. As much time as he had spent in the Graham home - as many séances as he had attended - the ground floor was for show. Here was the sanctuary where Will Graham lived. This was the heart of him. 

Will had not turned on the lights, but the light flowing in through the window allowed Hannibal to view the room easily. The bed was simple but elegant; designed for function over form. It was sturdily built - from oak, if Hannibal was not mistaken - with a simple headboard. Though he would gladly have joined Will in a smaller bed if invited, he was pleased to note it was a double. The bed sheets were also a plain white, though a closer look would reveal intricate decorative stitching, also in white, framing the pillowcases. 

There was a single armchair in the corner, facing the window instead of the room. Oddly, it appeared to match the couch in the sitting room, with the same flamed mahogany frame and light green upholstery. Hannibal wondered why the two pieces had been separated. Sitting next to it was a square cherry side table which also appeared to match one of the tables in the sitting room, suggesting again that a set had been separated. 

Directly beneath the window was a secretary desk, empty but for a few stray pieces of paper and a simple black fountain pen resting on top. On the opposite wall there was a sturdy but unassuming dresser outside a door that likely lead to a closet.

But what drew and kept Hannibal’s attention was the bookcase, which was filled to overflowing. Books of all varieties were stacked in piles on the shelves, with more sitting on top of the modest piece of furniture. There were more books still on the single table set next to the bed. 

Hannibal could feel Will watching him, blue eyes following the trail of his maroon, taking in the room as Hannibal did. Will squeezed his hand and pulled him gently toward the bed. As they neared it Will released him and moved to close the curtains - though he did not close them completely, allowing a small amount of light into the room. He still had not turned on any of the lamps, but even with the curtain mostly closed there was enough ambient light to see. 

Moving back to stand by the bed Will returned his attention to Hannibal’s tie, smiling but not speaking. Loosening and removing it with deft fingers, Will draped it around his own neck and began unbuttoning Hannibal’s vest. Though he’d removed Hannibal’s tie with speed, his pace with the vest and shirt was excruciatingly slow. But when Hannibal moved to assist, Will gently but firmly pushed his hands away. He wondered at the difference in the man in front of him. The vocal Will Graham of only a few nights before was nowhere to be seen in this silent man who was slowly undressing him. 

It occurred to Hannibal that Will was following through on his desire to expose him. Will did not move to touch his own clothing, instead concentrating all his attention on the slow tease of removing Hannibal’s. 

Wanting to reciprocate, he reached for Will’s shirt. With a smile Will shook his head, this time gently but firmly moving Hannibal’s hands back to his side. Despite Will’s silence, his message was clear and Hannibal remained still despite his impatience. 

When at last Will pushed Hannibal’s shirt up and off his shoulders, he took a moment to run his hands through Hannibal’s chest hair, gripping and pulling gently before leaning forward to flick his tongue quickly over the soft rise of a nipple. Hannibal moaned softly. Before Will he would not have considered his nipples sensitive, but Will’s breath ghosting across his chest and the practiced tease of Will’s tongue caused a shiver of arousal to run through him. 

Will pulled back, grinning, and dropped to remove Hannibal’s shoes and socks before making much quicker work of his pants and undergarments. He stepped out of the pool of clothing around his ankles and moved so that he was standing fully nude and exposed in the sliver moonlight entering the room. He had never been ashamed of his body and as Will’s eye’s roamed across him he felt only pride in his health and physique. But there was an illicit thrill, as well, in the difference between their states of dress - in the implied vulnerability of being nude when his lover was still fully dressed. 

“Get on the bed,” Will said, his voice slightly hoarse. Hannibal obeyed, sitting on the edge of the bed and awaiting further instruction. “Lie down. Leave your feet on the floor.” 

Once again, Hannibal did as instructed, a shiver running through him. Will ran his hands lightly down Hannibal’s chest, tracing his hipbones and down his thighs to his knees. Ignoring the desire to lift his head, Hannibal instead closed his eyes, allowing the sensation of Will touching him to be his sole focus. Will’s hands had moved and he was dragging his fingertips along Hannibal’s inner thighs. The touch was featherlight and teasing. Hannibal’s stomach clenched in response, his hips shifting up in the slightest motion as Will’s fingertips skated the edges of his groin, ignoring the obvious need there, and instead moved to his hipbones again where he gripped tightly. 

“Still, unless I tell you to move,” Will said. Despite the gentle lilt of his voice the command was clear. It reminded Hannibal of the way Will conducted his séances - his voice was soft and seductive, his words soothing, but there was no doubt the medium was in charge and guiding every step of the proceedings. 

Hannibal considered himself an attentive lover, happy to oblige the requests of those who shared his bed, but still ultimately directing the course of events. It had been a long time since he had given up control - but Will was taking it and it was exhilarating. He gripped the edge of the bed, aching with the anticipation of what was to come. 

Shifting his weight to nudge one thigh and then the other, Will encouraged Hannibal to open wider. Will sank into a crouch and Hannibal sensed rather than saw him pull something from under the the bed before settling down onto his knees. Once comfortable Will pressed Hannibal’s legs wider still, biting along his inner thighs until he reached the hard length of his sex. He ran his nose along the underside of the shaft then traced the same path with his tongue before pulling the head into his mouth. 

The heat and suction of Will’s soft mouth was as exquisite as he remembered, and Hannibal stifled a groan, aware in a vague way that Abigail’s room was not nearly the same distance as his staffs’ quarters in his own home. Will’s eyes flashed in the moonlight, pleased at the reaction he was provoking. 

“No need to be quiet,” he said, pulling away. “The house is more soundproof than you’d think. She won’t hear us.” 

Will didn’t wait for a response before engulfing Hannibal with his mouth once more. The movement was pleasurable but far too slow, and Hannibal fought the urge to thrust. He could tell by the pressure of Will’s hands on his hips that this was a deliberate tease - he knew exactly what Hannibal wanted and was not going to allow him to have it. Hannibal moaned loudly at the thought, causing Will to hum appreciatively around him and increase his pace. 

Hannibal gripped the bed, forcing his hips to be still and moaning as Will brought him closer and closer to the edge. His muscles tightened, abdomen clenching in a way that was almost painful and he was unable to stop himself from thrusting his hips upward. And at that moment Will pulled away, causing Hannibal to make a rather undignified noise he would absolutely not be acknowledging later. 

Clutching him tightly, Will pulled him to the very edge of the bed before sinking down to press Hannibal’s thighs up and over his shoulders. He sucked at Hannibal’s balls before moving further down, his tongue finding and circling its goal before pressing in without ceremony. 

Hannibal lifted his head in surprise, allowing it to fall back to the bed with equal speed as he moaned wantonly. It had been some time since he had been on the receiving end of this particular act. He’d explored it as a young man, curious about the pleasures of sex, but it had felt, even then, too exposed. Too vulnerable. 

It felt arguably more vulnerable now, his hips on the edge of the bed with Will kneeling before him, still fully clothed. Hannibal’s entire body hummed with the thrill of it, laid so bare at the whim of his lover, his focus eventually shifting to the continued movement of Will’s tongue against him. He’d forgotten the intensity of the feeling; the bundle of nerve endings in that puckered skin radiating pleasure and setting his body alight with heat. His heart pounded and his blood sang. 

Will pressed in further, adding a finger to allow his tongue better access in a way Hannibal hadn’t expected to be so immensely pleasing. He felt his body tighten once more. 

“Will.” He wasn’t certain if he meant it as a plea to stop, to continue, or simply as a warning. In the end his intent didn’t matter - Will hummed in response but nothing more. Hannibal experienced a brief, fleeting wonder that it was possible to climax from this attention alone before his orgasm hit him as a full body shudder; waves of pleasure traveling from his groin down to his toes and up to the tips of his fingertips, sticky heat coating his chest and stomach. 

He watched through half lidded eyes as Will stood. His hair was mussed as though he’d been pulling on it. His eyes were dark. He flashed a grin and his teeth were too white, too sharp in the moonlight. He looked half-feral; dark, dangerous and utterly enthralling. 

“Move back - head on the pillows, one under your hips.” Will instructed, finally moving his hands to the buttons of his shirt. He undressed slowly, allowing Hannibal to watch him, carefully folding each article of clothing he removed setting them on the nearby chair until only Hannibal’s tie remained, still slung around his neck. 

Nude, he was a picture of contrast in the moonlight: long lines of pale skin topped with a head of dark curls and broken by a patch of similarly dark pubic hair trailing down his stomach and full between his legs. His eyes were peculiarly dark in the low light. Hannibal traced the long lines of lean muscles from his calves to his thighs, moving to the soft roundness of his buttocks and the hard line of his erection, already wet and glistening at the tip, then up his taut stomach and chest and down again over the deceptively slim lines of his arms. In his right hand he held a small jar. 

Will remained still for a few moments, watching Hannibal take him in, before climbing onto the bed and settling in a kneeling position between Hannibal’s legs. His intent was clear and it sent a thrill down Hannibal’s spine as his body made a valiant attempt to respond to his renewed arousal. 

“I’m not as young as you are,” Hannibal said and Will laughed gently in response. 

“This is the second time you’ve reminded me of our age difference, Count Lecter,” Will said, a teasing lilt to his voice. “But as I am now quite familiar with your recovery time, I believe I have the situation well in hand.” 

“I believe you do,” Hannibal said, surprised at the breathy quality of his own voice. Still on his knees, Will edged closer, nudging gently at Hannibal’s thighs to encourage him to open wider. Bending, Will placed an open mouthed suckling kiss on Hannibal’s soft member. It was an oddly pleasurable sensation and Hannibal moaned softly. 

“I want to be inside of you.” He did not phrase it as a question, but the question was there nonetheless. The shyness hidden in the statement took Hannibal by surprise. Mere nights ago Will had demanded Hannibal take him - the memory of his dark eyes and guttural utterance fuck me now, Hannibal made all the more arousing for its vulgarity - and he had shown no hesitation in directing the course of events this evening. 

Will must have realized, in that remarkable way of his, that Hannibal’s standard arrangement with lovers did not involve him being penetrated. But his liaisons either served a specific purpose or were fleeting encounters that were only rarely repeated. Will was anything but standard. Hannibal nodded. He moved to flip over, but Will stopped him. 

“I want to see you. I want to watch what I do to you.”

Hannibal nodded again. “How do you want me?” 

“As you are.” Will reached for the small jar he’d placed on the bed earlier and Hannibal wondered briefly how he’d managed to get a prescription for surgical lube. The thought quickly left his mind as Will slicked up his fingers, rubbing in gentle circles before pressing two in at once. 

Hannibal drew in a breath. The sensation was welcome but was still an intrusion, and despite how relaxed he was from their earlier activities he felt his body wanting to tense in response. He breathed out slowly, concentrating on the sensation of Will’s fingers moving purposefully inside of him and Will’s other hand running soothingly up and down his thigh. 

As Hannibal eased into the feeling, Will crooked his fingers expertly causing a burst of pleasure to roll down Hannibal’s spine. He moaned, shifting his hips to chase the sensation. Will added a third finger, placing his other hand on Hannibal’s stomach and pressing gently. Hannibal shuddered as Will’s fingers grazed his prostrate once more, his eyes closing and his head pressing back firmly against the pillow. 

Though he enjoyed watching Will, Hannibal opted to keep his eyes closed and focus on the sensations of touch and sound. He lost himself in the noise of his own ragged breathing, the coolness of the room compared to the sheen of sweat on his skin, the feeling of heat in Will’s fingers as they moved within him and the light pressure of the hand on his stomach, encouraging him to keep his movements minimal if not quite stilling him. Will’s breathing was only slightly less harsh than his own, the scent of arousal heavy in the air: the acrid saltiness of sweat and the honeyed sweetness of desire. 

The hand on his stomach disappeared and Hannibal listened as Will stroked himself slowly, slicking himself in preparation. Removing his fingers, Will lined up but paused before continuing, waiting for the answer to a question he didn’t need to voice. 

“Yes,” Hannibal hissed and felt the pressure of Will moving into him as the word left his lips. He opened his eyes to see Will watching him, his lover’s blue eyes once again appearing black in a mixture of desire and low light, his expression one of unbridled pleasure. 

Despite Will’s fingers and Hannibal’s own desire he found he was not fully prepared for the intensity of the stretch as Will filled him, his body clenching instinctively in response. His breath hitched and he concentrated on relaxing his muscles, watching as Will’s face changed between concern and pleasure. 

As Will seated himself fully inside, Hannibal clenched again - this time intentionally - and Will dropped his head releasing a low, shuddering moan and breathing harshly into Hannibal’s neck, muttering “oh God yes.”

Pleased with the reaction, Hannibal shifted his hips in encouragement earning another guttural noise from Will, who lifted himself up before placing both hands on Hannibal’s chest and pushing him down hard into the mattress. 

“Fuck,” Will growled. Despite not typically appreciating vulgarity, Will’s use of the term once again sent a waive of hot arousal coursing through him. He realized with mild amusement that he was hard again. Will appeared very nearly undone, his lips parted and body flushed. He closed his eyes, lashes fluttering, and took a deep breath. Hannibal smirked and shifted his hips once more, reveling in the strangled, choking sound he earned in response. Will pressed against him harder still, releasing shuddering breathes. 

“If you want this to last I need a minute,” he said, gritting his teeth. 

“And if I don’t?” Hannibal asked. “If I want to take you apart instead?” 

Will said nothing, instead curling his fingers and tugging on Hannibal’s chest hair. Hannibal watched as emotions played across his face, the outward signs of an internal struggle for control. It was exquisite. He felt a strong urge to move again, to watch Will break and to know he was the one who brought him to that edge and then took him over. 

As he was considering whether or not to indulge this desire Will took a deep breath and, keeping his eyes closed, began to move slowly, almost tentatively, before increasing the pace and strength of his thrusts. Hannibal lifted his legs, wrapping them around Will’s back. Will shifted in response, changing his angle, and Hannibal’s head fell back against the pillow once again as shivers of pleasure rolled through him. He moaned loudly, pleased when Will’s movements became more frantic in response, the heels of Will’s hands pressing hard into him. Will gripped his chest hair tighter, pulling harder and causing a pleasing amount of pain. His lover was no longer silent, a steady stream of pleasured mutterings falling between them. 

Will opened his eyes and focused on Hannibal. “Touch yourself.” 

Hannibal spit on his hand and complied, stroking slowly along his shaft, enjoying the pulsing feeling beneath his fingers as he coaxed himself ever closer to his own orgasm. 

“Faster,” Will demanded. “I’m so close. Hannibal, I - “ 

Hannibal watched, fascinated, as Will threw his head back in pleasure and moaned loudly, stomach muscles twitching. He felt Will pulsing inside of him and increased the speed of his strokes until he came once more across his stomach and chest, the seizing of his muscles as he did drawing a sound somewhere between pain and pleasure from Will, who pulled out slowly before draping himself across Hannibal’s chest, heedless of the mess. 

Or perhaps not heedless, Hannibal reflected as Will shifted his body, intentionally smearing ejaculate across them both - as well as Hannibal’s tie, which was still around his neck. 

“Was that your intent for my tie this entire time?” Hannibal asked, running his fingers through Will’s hair. He should have been irritated at the lack of care for what was, after all, an expensive tie, but discovered he was more amused than anything. 

“No,” Will said. “I had something else in mind, but got caught in the moment.” Hannibal waited to see if he would explain, but he did not, sighing contentedly instead. “Thank you,” he said softly. Hannibal stroked down his back before kissing the top of his head. Will moved to sit up, but Hannibal grabbed the tie and pulled him back down into a bruising kiss. 

“Another excellent use for this,” he said tugging gently at the fabric as Will tried again to pull away. 

Will laughed. “Come on, we should get cleaned up.” Hannibal released him reluctantly and watched as he crossed the room. He opened his closet retrieving two robes, though he made no move to put one on. Instead, he moved to the bedroom door and padded out into the hall. Hannibal followed, casting a furtive glance at the closed doors lining the walkway. Will smiled and opened another door to a surprisingly spacious bathroom, flicking on the light as he did. 

Hannibal took in his surroundings. It was standard in design but larger than most, with an oversized, double-ended clawfoot tub, large sink, and similarly oversized mirror. The person who designed the bathroom clearly enjoyed space. 

“It’s not quite as fancy as yours, I’m afraid,” Will said, fiddling with the knobs on the bathtub and checking the temperature. “But we do have hot water. Unless you’d prefer a washcloth to a bath?” 

“A bath sounds quite pleasant,” Hannibal said. “Though perhaps we should not linger.” 

Will cocked his head in amusement. “Don’t worry about Abigail. I’m often up in the middle of the night, but she sleeps surprisingly well. To the point that waking her in the morning is sometimes difficult. And if she is up and sees the light on she won’t come in. She has no desire to see me naked.” 

“Get in,” he said. Hannibal did, considering the bathtub as he sank into the water. It rivaled his in size and, while he did not profess to be a connoisseur of bathroom appliances, he was nonetheless surprised. He found himself wondering about the bathtub’s provenance. 

“Where did you get this bathtub?” he asked, bending his legs to create space as Will climbed in on the other side. 

Will laughed. “Like most items in this house, my grandmother purchased it. Unfortunately I couldn’t tell you more.” 

“Did you know your grandmother?” Hannibal asked, catching an undercurrent of sadness despite Will’s amusement. 

He shook his head. “It was just me and my father growing up. I knew my grandmother lived here, but she and my father were not on good terms. I never knew any other family.” 

“Your mother?”

“No.” He didn’t elaborate, but instead drew his knees closer to his chest before sinking down lower in the water, resting his head against the back of the bathtub. “How old were you when you lost your parents?” 

Hannibal swallowed, suppressing a shiver despite the warmth of the water. He’d told Will the loss of his family was an old wound, but the rarity of sharing the story still made it difficult. He remembered the cold of that winter, though he’d been unaware of the scarcity of food. There had been fighting nearby, but there had always been fighting. Hannibal and Mischa had been blissfully unaware of the seriousness of what was happening around them. They had gone out to gather firewood - an errand that, as an adult, Hannibal realized was created to keep them from being underfoot - when they saw men wandering in the woods. Hannibal had immediately been suspicious but Mischa, ever kind, asked if they were lost and needed help.

Allowing themselves to be seen had been a mistake.

“I was twelve,” he said, finally, his voice quiet. “Mischa was six, nearly seven. She never saw her seventh birthday.”

Will leaned forward, moving between Hannibal’s legs and placing a hand on his knee. He didn’t speak, but watched Hannibal with that familiar intensity. Hannibal gripped his hips, gently guiding him closer until they were chest to chest. 

“We don’t have to talk about it,” Will said, turning and settling more comfortably between Hannibal’s thighs, his back against Hannibal’s chest. 

Hannibal wrapped his arms around his lover and held him tightly, considering his fragility. Skin: easily pierced. Bones: stronger, but still easily broken with proper force and placement of pressure. Tender organs hiding behind the veneer of skin, bones, blood, muscle and tendon. There were so many vulnerable places on the human body, though perhaps none more vulnerable than a trusting mind. He could move his hand to Will’s trachea and squeeze. Incapacitate him with a swift twist of the neck, breaking his spine. Press him down under the bathwater and hold him there until he stopped struggling. The element of surprise was ever a boon, and Will would not anticipate any of these actions. 

But while Will might appear gentle and kind, there was a hardness in him - a brutality that Hannibal imagined he could feel simmering just below his skin. He wouldn’t go quietly; he would fight back. Perhaps he would feel Will’s fists on his face, or Will’s strong hands wrapping around his own neck. Perhaps a razor gliding across his skin. It would be glorious. Part of him would always long to push, to force that dark element out into the light. 

In the palace of his mind he observed various fights between himself and Will, the victor ultimately uncertain and undecided. Simultaneously, he saw himself gather the man in his arms and carry him back into the bedroom, laying him down on the bed and tasting every inch of his skin to commit the flavor to memory once more. 

He pulled Will closer to his chest, caging him with his legs; a long forgotten, wholly unfamiliar urge to protect suddenly too strong to deny. 

_You old fool._ He should stop, leave, walk away - end whatever this was between them. Will could harm him in so many ways, but Hannibal was acutely aware that the greatest pain would be his absence. He squeezed more tightly, drawing his love ever closer as though Will could be absorbed into him. There was, of course, one way he could be - but that would again mean dealing with the absence of Will in the world. He had lost his Mischa, though he had absorbed her and would her with him always. Perhaps one day he would do the same to Will, but only, he thought, when there was no other option.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe it's been over a month since I've updated this. Honestly, I thought this would be like 6 or 7 chapters and this is chapter 10. I'm pretty far off my outline but rolling with it while still trying to get back "on track", if you will . . . thank you for reading. 
> 
> I have fewer historical notes for this chapter for probably obvious reasons. I did go down a whole little rabbit hole looking up the history of lube, which was pretty unnecessary given it makes a cameo appearance at best. But I tend to get caught up in these things. Anyway - KY was actually been around since the early 1900s, and Vaseline the late 1800s. KY was sold as surgical lube but rather quickly appropriated for other purposes . . . but you still needed a _prescription_ (seriously?) to get it until 1980. Hence Hannibal's off-hand curiosity about how Will got it.
> 
> It was common for bedsheets of the time to be intricately stitched, and white stitching on white sheets was apparently a thing. The Victorians liked white, clearly (but I like I said in my last long set of notes, they really didn't like dirt!)
> 
> Clawfoot tubs came in a variety of sizes, and some were double-ended and intended for two people. The awesome thing about them is they're actually made of iron with a porcelain coating. The iron would retain heat, so you can have a long, leisurely soak in a clawfoot in water that actually stays warm. Which had to be very practical when not everyone had hot running water - who wants to boil water for a bath only to have it cool before you can really enjoy it? 
> 
> Of course, the construction also makes them incredibly heavy. And expensive. If you want a real clawfoot tub, anyway. I envision the one in Will's house looking something like [this one](https://www.vintagetub.com/randolph-morris-72-inch-acrylic-double-slipper-clawfoot-tub-with-imperial-feet-no-drillings-rma72ds0di.html?&gclid=Cj0KCQiA7NKBBhDBARIsAHbXCB6gRJXeNQvA2ZRywqZ1YZldRZFVx9UY0J2VakOPE-pjR45lEEV3zQoaAl7YEALw_wcB#900=4303), although it's a replica and Will's did not have an attached shower head. The real thing would be over $2k based on everything I found online. 
> 
> Although the closest I've gotten to giving a time of year for this fic is "fall", I'm envisioning November for this chapter. Snowfall in Baltimore can occur as early as November, so it wouldn't be a shock but also wouldn't be entirely expected. And it probably would stick overnight, but melt in the morning, although it was more likely to stick than it would have been where I grew up. 
> 
> Baltimore would be better prepared than my hometown, although maybe not hugely. Where I grew up we're generally not equipped to deal with any amount of snow. One year we got a "blizzard" (by which I mean maybe 5-6 inches) and I was out of school for two weeks.
> 
> Anyway, average snowfall in Baltimore is only about 19 inches total, although that's well above my hometown's average of a whopping 7 inches per year (which is why almost all of that at once was more than we could manage). The overall US average is 28 inches, in case you're curious. 
> 
> I think that's it for this chapter, but if anyone reading ever has any questions about historical items or locations I include that I didn't mention, please ask me in the comments! Although I will include my usual "this was not meticulously researched" disclaimer, just in case I got anything wrong. ;)


End file.
